


Water and Blood

by AttackoftheDarkCurses



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Assassination attempts, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Ben and Rey both do Bad Things, Bodyguard Romance, Corruption, Dark Rey, Emotional Slow Burn, F/M, Forbidden Love, HEA, Kidnapping, Live in Bodyguard, Manipulation, Mentions of Galactic War, Mentions of Starvation, Mentions of past abuse, Minor Injuries, No Pregnancy, Politics, Power Imbalance, Rey Palpatine, Side Poe/Hux, Side Rose/Finn, Smut, Violence, dubcon, mentions of child abuse, murders, use of weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 122,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23848330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttackoftheDarkCurses/pseuds/AttackoftheDarkCurses
Summary: After an attempted assassination, Rey’s grandfather insists she have a bodyguard for the length of his campaign for First Senator.Things don’t go as expected.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 1011
Kudos: 892
Collections: Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my own [Reylo Prompt](https://twitter.com/reylo_prompts/status/1194569296602652672?s=20). It's a vague interpretation. (“Dark Rey Modern AU. Crime Lord Snoke adopted and raised Rey as his own. As an adult she’s taking over the family business... that is, unless her conflicted and lovesick bodyguard, Kylo Ren, can do something about it.”)

There have been times in her life when Rey thought things couldn’t be worse. Times when her belly ached from days-long hunger, and times when she barely escaped the clutches of truly vile Jakku scum who were trying to steal her hard-earned portions. She’s managed through terrible things a child should never experience, but at least on Jakku she had one thing she now lacks. 

Hope.

“These criminals,” her grandfather enunciates, careful to pause for dramatic effect as he tends to while giving this speech, “Are threatening to destroy our great galaxy.” 

His pretentious cobalt robes billow around him in the chilly wind, and the man gives a sad, subtle shake of his head right on cue. The rapt audience of journalists, reporters, and supporters play right into it. There’s a murmur of agreement from many of them, nods all around. It shouldn’t be surprising given that the great Senator Palpatine likely hand-picked his audience.

Rey folds her arms across her chest under her thick scarlet cloak, holding back a shiver and an eye roll, and she lets her gaze wander to the obsidian pavement below her. Monument Plaza isn’t her favorite part of Galactic City, but at least they’re doing this outside and not in the Senate Building. It might be freezing, but at least they’re outdoors. Ever since Lady Sindian’s motion for the creation of the First Senator position, her grandfather’s been wrapped up in an election; it feels like months since she’s been outside and not inside a stuffy office listening to advisers drone on about properness in the public eye.

She tries to disregard the reason she’s currently getting to breathe fresh air, finally let out of her gilded cage with its stunning views of Coruscant. She’s there for show. Rey pushes the thought from her mind, just as her grandfather says what is effectively his mission statement in a dramatic exhale. 

“If I am elected, I vow to unite us as one government, with a strong, impenetrable military to keep all of us safe. To keep our children safe.” His gaze pointedly shifts to her and this, _this_ is why she’s here. It’s artificial, but his expression fills with the sort of love he’s never shown her privately. “Isn’t that all any of us wants?” he adds softly. “To keep those we love safe?”

On cue, Rey gives him a smile as phony as he is. The crowd buys right into it, in a flurry of cam clicks and clapping.

“Thank you, thank you,” he waves, with false humility. “I’d like to introduce you all to a brave, wonderful young woman who’s inspired me to make motions intended to clean up this galaxy.” Gesturing to her, Palpatine nods for her to join him. Rey steps closer, clenching her hidden hands into fists to avoid bristling at his hand on her shoulder. 

“My granddaughter,” he announces. “Rey Palpatine. I searched for years to find her and was horrified to discover how easily she could have been forced into the insidious slave trade that runs rampant in this galaxy. It’s my hope that, as your First Senator, I can put an end to this terrible criminal activity. We’ve allowed these horrors to persist for too long—the slave trade, the spice trade, the criminals and animals who run free and terrorize the people we love when they should be imprisoned.”

Briefly, she imagines Unkar Plutt behind bars, and the hand on her shoulder feels a little lighter.

The final words of his speech come from her lips, in a quiet, emotion-thick voice she’s been told to practice in a mirror. 

“Please, urge your senators to elect my grandfather as First Senator,” Rey urges. “Please, do what you can to prevent childhoods like mine.” She hesitates, and the longer the awkward pause, the more the grip on her shoulder tightens. “Please,” she stammers, “help us protect those we love.”

While the little gathered crowd cheers, nausea bubbles in her throat. The hand from her shoulder drops after a little pat, and for the fiftieth time, maybe the hundredth, maybe the thousandth, Rey can’t help but wonder if she’s done something wrong, or if she’s done something right. Part of her yearns for the smiles to be real, for the kind pats on the shoulder to actually be kind.

Part of her thinks she was better off on Jakku.

The numbness sets in along with the most meager smile she can muster up, and her grandfather directs his attention back to the reporters who have started to swarm him with insistent questions and raised hands. 

Rey’s eyes glaze until she hears one man’s prodding question. 

“Senator? Senator!” he shouts above the rabble. “Senator, what about the protesting in the Outer Rim? What would you say to those who argue that voting for you is a vote for fascism and militarism?”

Her attention, along with her grandfather’s, snaps toward the person asking, and in seconds she recognizes the familiar voice. It belongs to a handsome, yet foolish and troublesome man with curly brown hair and a mouth that works more quickly than his brain.

Senator Palpatine answers dryly, after a sigh. “Go back to Senator Organa’s campaign, Mister Dameron.”

“So you have nothing to say about that claim?” Dameron presses. His eyes have lit up like he’s just won an argument. As annoying as it is, she can’t deny that the confused expressions on the faces of some of the reporters are amusing. Having a dissenter in the crowd wasn’t the sort of entertainment she was expecting, and Rey’s forced to bite her lips closed to hold back a laugh when Dameron continues, “You agree, then? You admit to supporting fascism and militarism, thinly disguised as keeping those we love safe? It’s a nice sound-bite, sure, but—”

“That’s enough,” her grandfather all but snarls. He raises a hand to silence the man. “Leia Organa is running a campaign on hopes and dreams, not reality. She is content to cling to pointless idealism. I am not. Our galaxy and our way of life is being threatened, and my opponent is not willing to stand up and face that threat.” He pauses, returning to his calmer campaign-speech voice, and gives the crowd a serious look. “If I am elected, I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety.”

Voices from the crowd bubble up again, and Poe Dameron’s expression turns smug as he slowly backs away, probably to run off and report back to Senator Organa’s offices. How the man got past the few subtle security guards spread around the Plaza, Rey’s not sure, but she almost wants to thank him for the ill-advised amusement, even if she thinks he’s an idealistic fool.

Given the unexpected excitement, her grandfather wraps things up quickly, ushering her toward their awaiting private airspeeder. The moment they’re inside and speeding through the skylane on their pre-programmed route home, he goes back to ignoring her. Nobody’s watching here. There’s no need to be the doting, rescuing, loving grandfather.

She almost craves these little events. At least they let her pretend.

Attempting conversation, Rey fiddles with her hands on her lap and clears her throat. “Grandfather, the mention of protesting in the Western Reaches… wouldn’t it be prudent to diffuse that? I’ve been wanting to take a larger role in the campaign, I could be an emissary, I lived on Jakku, the Outer Rim can’t be worse, so maybe—”

He interrupts with a cold laugh. “I will not send a child to the Outer Rim.”

“I’m not a child,” she argues, but at his pointed glare, she stops, and schools her tone to something more supplicating. “I’m nearly twenty, I’m by definition an adult, and I lived on my own for years before you found me, I—”

“Be quiet.”

Her lower lip trembles as she clenches her fists in her lap. The feeling of her nails digging into her palm is oddly grounding.

“You are a child,” he insists. “A spoiled child. I won’t hear another word of you serving as an emissary. It’s absurd. Do you understand?”

Rey opens her mouth to argue back, but then he leans over, and the kindness that never reaches his eyes returns to his expression. His hand pats her knee in a rare moment of private affection. “Forgive me. It’s only that I would be too worried,” he claims. “I could never forgive myself if your work on my campaign put you in danger. Please tell me you understand.”

It’s almost like he cares. Rey lets herself pretend he does.

“Of course, grandfather,” she murmurs. “I understand.”

He pats her knee, and it’s like being struck.

“Good girl,” he nods, giving her a semblance of a smile. “I knew you’d understand.”

Not for the first time, Rey swallows her reply and reminds herself of the benefit of her current life. Food is no longer a luxury item, shelter is a given, and her days are no longer spent scavenging and bartering for the things that allow her to survive. But disregarding her stocked kitchen, her lavish apartment, her warm bed… did she not have a sort of freedom on Jakku? Or is it simply that her freedom on Jakku came at the cost of her safety and well-being?

Rey pushes the thoughts from her mind, and glances over to her grandfather. “Do you think you’ll have time to join Armie and I for dinner tonight?”

“I won’t,” is his not-at-all surprising reply.

Her understanding smile almost feels real.

\--*--

When the turbolift doors open to the sprawling apartment near the top of 500 Republica, Rey stills at the view. It’s the same majestic view of Coruscant’s highest level that’s welcomed her home for a decade—a view that’s exclusive to the ultra-wealthy of Galactic City. Gilded bars aside, the sight is better than endless desert.

It’s gotten warmer since she first arrived. Not in temperature, but since she was a child fresh off her grandfather’s ship, the apartment decor has shifted from his constant blood-red hues to something softer. Excessive velvet curtains draping to the sides of giant windows are still scarlet, but the furniture is in shades of creams and grays, and there are signs that the space is lived in by someone other than a work-a-holic senator; a pair of slippers shoved to the side of a couch, a small stack of books, a blanket still balled up on her usual chair, left from the holovid she and Armie watched together the night before.

Rey steps out of the turbolift, letting the doors close behind her as her grandfather continues up to his own apartment on the floor above them—the apartment she’s rarely stepped foot in.

“Armie?” she calls out, finally shrugging off her cloak. She leaves it draped over the back of a chaise lounge in their living room, then ventures toward the hallway where their bedrooms are. “Armie? Are you home?”

His voice comes from somewhere behind her. “In the kitchen!”

It takes her only a moment to turn and go back through the living room, taking a sharp turn at a wall that boasts art of a landscape on a grassy planet unlike anything she’s seen. She makes it into the artificially brightened kitchen just in time to see her sort-of sibling almost cut his finger instead of a purple and white jogan fruit. 

“There you are,” she grins, giving him her first genuine smile of the day. “Tell me you’re planning to eat that raw. I don’t think the kitchen can survive another of your baking attempts.”

He sighs tiredly. “You say that as if your adventures in the kitchen are better. At least when I attempt to bake, I don’t make enough for half of Coruscant.” He drops the faux annoyance and laughs, rolling his eyes at her. “How was your day? Sorry I missed you, you left before I woke. One of the droids dropped off groceries while you were gone.”

“Of course we left before you woke, you sleep ‘til noon,” she teases, coming around the counter to wrap him in a hug. 

They were a bit closer in height when they met, back when she was an incredibly lonely child, new to Coruscant and with only her grandfather’s servants for company. She was only nine then, and he, thirteen, desperate for a home away from his father, a home where he would be safe and welcome. Now, a decade later, he towers over her. His hugs have only gotten better.

She lets herself sag against him. “I was hoping to do the shopping myself,” she mumbles.

“Ah. I doubt that will be an option, moving forward.”

Rey pulls back, frowning up at him as he goes back to cutting the jogan fruit. “What’s that mean?” Her heart leaps into her throat. Her frown deepens, because she thinks she knows what he’s about to tell her. “Armie,” she asks, trying to ignore the desperation seeping into her voice, “What do you mean?”

“You know what I’m saying,” he tells her quietly. “After that last attempt, he’s not going to allow it. It’s too dangerous.”

“Attempt? It was hardly an attempt!” Rey argues pointlessly. “An assault, maybe, but nothing’s happened for weeks. The man didn’t even have a blaster, and we don’t know for sure that I was the target, it could have easily been—”

“Rey,” he interrupts. The softness in his tone makes it more concerned than rude. He presses his mouth into a thin line and that’s when she sees it—how rattled he looks. Where his bright hair would normally be styled with the endless products that overflow his bathroom counter, it’s still a mess from sleep. Worry lines crease his pale face. His clothes, even, are unkempt. 

“Of course you were the target,” he murmurs. After a long moment, he says, “Between that and the daily threats all three of us get? Senator Palpatine isn’t going to let you keep leaving the apartment, not for things like grocery shopping. This election’s getting heated. You know that.”

There’s a sinking feeling in her stomach. “So that’s it, then? Some asshole maybe tries to hurt me, and now I’m a prisoner?”

Armie takes a pointed look around the room before tilting his head at her. “Halfway decent prison cell, don’t you think? Don’t be so dramatic. It’s for your own safety.”

“You sound like him,” Rey groans.

“Perhaps that’s because I agree with him. He’s concerned for your wellbeing. We both are. I believe he’s in discussions with a potential bodyguard, and that seems like fair middle-ground to me. I’m sure it’s only until after the election.” At her disbelieving expression, he shrugs. “I’m sorry, but wearing a hood and using a fake name when you go out will hardly fool everyone.”

“Sure, but a _bodyguard?”_

Rey groans again, turning away from him, and opens the steel-plated door to the conservator. It’s fully stocked, robbing her of an excuse to leave the apartment in the next few days. She can’t help but scowl at it. Wisely, Armie doesn’t reply, nor does he bother asking about the anger she’s directing at their conservator.

“What do you want for dinner?” she mutters. “Or were you planning to only eat jogan fruit?”

His answer is quiet. “Are you offering to cook?”

“Why else would—”

The buzzer of their apartment comm system interrupts her, and the voice of one of her grandfather’s droid assistants echoes politely, “Miss Palpatine, you are requested to join Senator Palpatine in his office in approximately fifteen minutes.”

Silence falls between the two of them as they share a look. 

“Bodyguard,” Armie sighs. “I told you. With any luck, you’ll get someone who functions as an assistant as well. ”

Rey lets a whine slip from her mouth. It isn’t that she doesn’t understand the logic of having one, but she rarely gets to leave the apartment as it is. A bodyguard is superfluous and inconvenient. 

“No more sneaking out to the Outlander,” she says sadly.

“I’ve been telling you to stop it with that place. Last time we went, someone tried to sell me deathsticks,” Armie states, sounding utterly offended. “Deathsticks, Rey. Those things are poison. And the floors at that club were sticky. It’s a wonder neither of us were kidnapped and held for ransom. I still can’t believe we made it out alive.”

She snorts, leaning back against the counter next to the conservator. “We were perfectly safe.”

“I beg to differ,” he argues, but it’s in the playful sibling-like way they’ve gotten used to. He gives her a pitying look. “I’ll have dinner delivered before you get back. Perhaps something fried? We can split it, and a bottle of wine?”

“That’s fine,” she nods. After a pause, she hums. “You should order extra. If I agree to having a bodyguard, maybe I can get grandfather to join us for dinner.”

Armie gives her a sad look, like he knows it’ll never happen. “Maybe. If not, we can eat in the living room? Over a holovid?”

“Anything but _Keeping Up With the_ _Calrissians_ _,”_ she agrees, ignoring the look he gives her—they both know it’ll just be the two of them. “A Holothriller?”

He sighs dramatically. “Oh, the concessions I make for you.” He huffs a laugh, waving her off. “Go. Try not to be too difficult.”

“Me? Be difficult? I would never.”

By the time she gets to the turbolift, he’s still laughing.

\--*--

The residential tower they live in is only home to the rich and famous, so it doesn’t escape her that she should consider herself lucky to have her own apartment with Armie while her grandfather keeps his own space a floor above them. As far as she’s seen, his apartment has an identical floorplan, but that’s where the similarities end.

Where she and Armie (Palpatine’s charity cases, as certain gossip rags call them) have filled their apartment with subtle grays and signs of life, her grandfather has not. It’s difficult to believe someone even sleeps in the apartment. Just the small bit of it she’s seen has been sterile enough to fill her with doubts that it’s truly lived in. 

The only color in the entry comes from ornate blood-red curtains that block any bit of sunlight that might try to brighten the room. Rey wrinkles her nose at them and steps cautiously toward the room that should be a living room and is instead an office, but she stills at the sound of her grandfather’s voice.

“My concern lies not with your inexperience,” he sighs in his Coruscanti accent, “But with your relations.” There’s an edge as he adds, “Tell me, what are your thoughts of Senator Organa?”

Even from the hallway, the tension is palpable. Rey holds her breath, waiting for what seems like an interview to end abruptly.

The man who replies speaks in a quiet, deep voice. “I’ve always believed the blood of the covenant was thicker than water of the womb.”

Just as her grandfather hums, Rey peeks through the slit of the open door into his office. It’s open just widely enough for her to see his usual spotless, sprawling glass desk—not a paper nor misplaced item to be seen on it—and her grandfather, studying someone intensely. Someone she can’t quite see with the angle of the door. 

Finally, after a long stare that’s been enough to make many a man run for cover, her grandfather nods. “You consider yourself a Centrist, then?”

“I consider myself uninvolved,” the man says flatly. “Assuming you hire me, it will be for protection, not politics. If you hire me, I answer to you. Simple as that.”

Her grandfather narrows his eyes, echoing, “Simple as that.” He pauses and gives another nod. “We’ll consider the next week a trial and move forward from there. I do hope this isn’t too large a departure from your usual work. My granddaughter should be here shortly. She lives in the apartment below this one—you’ll be staying there as well.”

“I have a ship, I—”

“I require someone to keep a closer eye on her at all times,” Palpatine interrupts sharply. “While I would prefer to think it unnecessary, I’m afraid I’ve received reports of her leaving without permission, and given the threats my office has received, this position is for a person who is able to stay at her side day and night. There is a spare bedroom. I’m sure it will be to your liking.”

He’s going to _share her apartment?_

Rey puts a hand to her chest in silent horror.

“Of course, sir,” her soon-to-be bodyguard cedes. 

That’s something, at least. If she’s truly stuck with a shadow, there’s a chance he’ll waver in the light of her stubbornness. Maybe.

Deciding it’s been long enough, Rey raps her knuckles on the door she’s been peeking through, calling through it as though she hasn’t been standing there for minutes, “Grandfather? You called for me?”

“You’re late,” he clips, mouth tightening as she pushes through the door. He gives her his usual once-over, seeming content that she’s still in the more formal pressed black pants and flowing red blouse, the same outfit she wore to his little press conference, sans cloak. “Rey, meet your new bodyguard.”

“Ah, about that,” she starts, determined to at least try to argue her way out of this, “It’s a nice idea. I appreciate the intention, but—” She turns to the man sitting opposite him and only catches the mess of flowing black hair before he stands and she’s forced to look up to meet his eyes. “But… um. Oh.”

Briefly, Rey contemplates demanding the man apologize, because every single logical argument against having a bodyguard is just gone. Looking at him is like a total mind-wipe, leaving her with very few thoughts past _his hair looks soft_ and some very inappropriate things concerning his mouth, even though it’s turned down into a hint of a scowl. He can scowl at her whenever he’d like, she decides.

She’s met countless people in her almost-twenty years, but—

“Miss Palpatine?” he asks, and kriff she can’t decide if he’s been trying to talk to her and she should reply, or if she even cares when she could keep staring. He’s so ridiculously wide, her arms probably wouldn’t reach around him. Her legs might. She wonders if he’d let her try. 

His throat clears. “You can call me Ben.”

No small amount of willpower forces her to ignore him in favor of turning to her grandfather.

“This is a terrible idea,” she deadpans. Part of her is screaming at her to _shut up shut up shut up and let the handsome massive man guard her,_ but Rey doubles down. “It’s kind of you to be concerned, grandfather, but I don’t need a bodyguard. I’ll be fine. Armie can keep me company when I go out, and I can limit my trips. I’ll avoid crowds—I don’t even like crowds, so that won’t be difficult. There’s no need to hire anyone.”

Just as expected, her grandfather gives her a tired and rather knowing look. “You have two choices, Rey. Either he can protect you with your approval, or without. Now, show him downstairs and try not to make such an embarrassment of yourself. I have work that needs attention.”

A flush rises on her cheeks. She hesitates, watching as he returns to a datapad, dismissing her completely.

“Would you consider joining us for dinner?” Rey asks quietly, already knowing the answer.

He waves her off.

“Right, okay,” she murmurs. Her gaze drops to the floor. “Goodnight, Grandfather.”

\--*--

The trip to the turbolift is swift and tense with uncomfortable silence. Her new bodyguard follows in after her, but doesn’t bother looking her in the eye. Just as well. She’ll be ditching him whenever necessary. 

One thing does tug at her mind, though, so before the lift doors open to her own apartment, she frowns over at him, ignoring the fluttering in her chest at his side profile—an aquiline nose and thick, pouting lips. 

“Why did my grandfather ask you about Senator Organa?”

Ben tilts his head toward her, just by a degree. “I wasn’t aware you were in the room.”

“That isn’t an answer.” The lift doors open, but Rey folds her arms over her chest and doesn’t step out. Her eyes bore into him, curiosity bubbling up in her at his reluctance to answer. “I don’t think that’s a difficult question, unless you do support that woman.”

His brow raises. “That woman? Should I assume you don’t support her, then?”

Rather rudely, he steps out into her apartment, making himself welcome as he walks away from her and toward the hallway of bedrooms. Naturally, Rey stalks after him, huffing, “Support Senator Organa? Are you mad? She is—she’s—well, she’s practically _ruining_ the galaxy. Or at least she intends to, and the sort of evidence her campaign has fabricated about my grandfather? Well.”

Ben stops in the middle of the hallway, nearly causing her to trip, and sighs. “Why don’t you just tell me which one’s mine?”

“Third one down, next to mine. Armie’s got the first one,” she mutters, then continues with the mini-rant that’s building. With any luck, he’ll scare off. “Senator Organa is downright dangerous, so if you support her, that’s something I need to know now. My grandfather has his flaws, of course, but she’s the worst kind of populist, especially considering how naïve she is when talking of hope. She can give them _false_ hope, maybe, but—”

He spins on his heel, taking a step so he’s toe to toe and staring down at her, his face a mask of simmering anger.

His mouth twitches at the corner.

“She’s naïve, hm? That’s funny, coming from you.”

“Excuse me?” Rey blurts.

Tawny brown eyes bore into her. He seems to relax, and gives a quiet, humorless laugh.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he says with a grin, and Rey resists the urge to find a balcony to shove him off. “You really want to know why your grandfather asked me about my political stances during that interview? Does it truly matter to you, a person who’s biggest problem in life is that she’ll deal with the minor inconvenience of being followed while she grocery shops? Are you really such a brat that you require an answer?”

Her jaw goes slack. “I— Yes,” she hisses. “In fact, I do require an answer. You work for me, don’t you? When I ask something of you, I expect it.”

“Oh, of course you do.” He laughs lowly, shaking his head at her. “But you’re wrong, I don’t work for you. I work for Senator Palpatine, and he specifically doesn’t require me to keep you informed. I’ll give you this one, though.”

He leans in, like he’s about to tell her some great secret. His breath fans over her skin, warm and sweet, and his eyes flick down toward her mouth. Foolishly, she wonders if he might kiss her, and she contemplates biting his lip if he does.

But then he whispers something she wasn’t expecting. 

“Leia Organa,” he starts, jaw rolling. The way he says the words, it’s like he’s biting into them. “Is my mother.”

His mouth closes, and the corner of his lips quirks up, just before he turns and walks off into the bedroom designated as his.

The door slams behind him.

Rey blinks, processing his words.

She’s sure half of Coruscant hears her swear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)
> 
> [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)


	2. Chapter 2

As she silences her morning alarm, Rey stares up at the silk-covered top of her posh four-poster bed and tries to convince herself she’s dreamed up the elaborate hell she’s in. It’s a significant part of her morning routine. Perhaps it’s more dramatic than Armie’s seven-step skincare routine, and it’s nowhere near as useful as the normal shower-caf-breakfast sort of routine most people have, but it might be the only part of this life that keeps her sane. She rests, counts her breaths, stares up, and tries to remember the ceiling over the mat she slept on in her AT-AT. 

(It was gray. Covered in crusted sand, rusted a little, and uneven with a few hanging long-dead cables and wires.) 

She tries to remember what it was like to believe she had a loving family, coming back to get her. Their blurry made-up faces used to fill her dreams, but now that she knows what they looked like (despite them being long-dead) she no longer dreams of them. Who would dream of parents who sold them off to a monster like Unkar Plutt for no good reason?

Somehow the next step of her routine is the hardest to stomach.

“I’m better off,” she whispers to the ceiling. “I am. I’m safe, I’m fed. I have a friend. I have a home. This is better.”

Rey swallows, blinks away the moisture that builds at the corners of her eyes at the innate wrongness of it all, and she repeats it over and over and over again.

The belief doesn’t come. It never does. Probably never will.

Moving on, moving forward, Rey does the same thing she did every morning she woke up to hunger pains on Jakku—she ignores the bit inside her that’s screaming. Even with daily practice, it doesn’t get easier.

The rest of her morning routine is more conventional. She sighs, climbs out of the bed that’s still too soft even after all these years, and she slides on fluffy blue slippers that help keep her feet off the perpetually cold floor. A sweater is next—a necessary accessory to fend off the chill of Coruscant. Rey tugs a creamy white sweater over her head, then leaves her room.

Armie has a bad habit of sleeping late, so most mornings include her having the kitchen all to herself. Unfortunately, when Rey gets to kitchen this morning, she startles at the fact that, for once, it’s not empty. It’s a rude reminder that there’s now a third resident, interrupting the quiet peace she and Armie have established.

Worse, the man occupying her kitchen, while admittedly handsome with his sleep-disheveled black hair, is _drinking her caf._ The machine is preprogrammed for her single-serving of caf so it’s ready and waiting when she wakes, but this morning, this _wretched_ morning, her new bodyguard is sipping at it, leaning against a counter. He’s already dressed for the day, assuming he doesn’t simply sleep in the plain slacks and loose black sweater. 

The blatant disregard for her sacred caf drops his attractiveness by at least half. 

His eyes flick to her over the rim of her own metal mug, and if it’s possible to look smug while drinking caf, he does.

“Do you happen to have a death wish?” she blurts, failing to keep the shock from her voice. “It’s bad enough that you’re here, in my space, but now you’re drinking my caf? From my mug? Did you not see my name on it? Are you blind or just illiterate?”

When he doesn’t bother with a response, save for a very pointed sip, she almost feels disoriented by how utterly blase he is about it all. 

“That’s my mug,” she insists. “My name is on that mug.”

One of his eyebrows quirks. He lowers the mug from his mouth only to say politely, “I must not have noticed. I had no idea it would be such a problem. Did you never learn to share, Miss Palpatine?”

For a moment, she stares him down, debating with herself whether or not it’s worthwhile to argue. Naturally her gut leans more toward _fight to the death_ than it should, but over the years she’s learned to temper that. Or at the very least, she’s learned to pick her battles and fight the others in a more covert way. As annoyed as she may be, she’s more interested in both leaving the apartment (and maybe discovering why, exactly, her grandfather hired the son of his rival) than she is in getting retribution for her stolen mug and caf.

“That’s fine,” she grinds out, smiling with more teeth than strictly necessary. “I’ll just make more. It’s not worth arguing.” 

He gives a hint of a shrug and moves out of her way, picking a different part of the counter to lean against. 

“I’m going to Monument Plaza today,” she announces, while filling the caf maker with more water. To be safe, she adds enough for two servings—not to share with him, she just has a feeling she’ll need to consume both, for his safety. “No major plans,” she adds, “but there’s a bakery I’ve been meaning to stop into. I haven’t been there in a while, and I’d like to stop in. Before you ask, thanks, but I don’t need the company. I think I’ll go by myself, unless Hux manages to wake before noon for once in his adult life.”

Just as she feared, Ben’s only response is a snort, and a firm, “No, I don’t think so.”

Rey’s hand falters, just as she starts to tip the spoon of powder into the caf maker. “No? What do you mean, no?”

“Oh, is that not a word you’ve heard before, Miss Palpatine?” he asks, his voice silky enough to cover the poison it’s laced with. Rey glances over, wide-eyed, and notices a curl of a cruel smile on his lips. “It’s a word. An adverb, I believe. Means you can’t do whatever you want, and I suggest you get used to that. Your grandfather hired me to babysit you and that’s what I’ll be doing from here on out. No more trips outside the apartment unless they’re absolutely necessary and cleared by both me and your grandfather.”

Instinct—the kind built over years of life on Jakku—makes her snarl. The spoon in her hand clatters to the counter. 

“Did he hire you to be a condescending nerf-herder as well?” Rey snaps. “It’s a single trip to Monument Plaza, I’ve been there a hundred times on my own. And it is necessary, unless you want me to lose my mind. I can’t just stay here all day, every day. That’s tantamount to torture.”

He studies her for a moment. Tilts his head, as if he’s considering it.

“Still no.”

Something starts pounding in her ears, an incessant angry rhythm. Rey clenches her jaw. 

The benefit of a decade under her grandfather, though, is that she’s also developed another way to handle such a situation. Jakku may have taught her intimidation and violence, but Coruscant and all its social politics taught her something else; a few kind words and fluttering eyelashes can be far more insidious than a blaster.

She takes in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and tries again.

After all, if he’s content to treat her as a child, why not act like a clueless, innocent one?

“My grandfather requested you keep me here?” Rey asks, lightening her tone to something polite and conversational. She softens her bow, gives him a little concerned frown. “Do you always do what you’re told?” 

He seems unphased. “Yes.”

“But you won’t do what _I_ ask?” She steps closer, folding her arms over her chest, and widens her eyes up at him. “But why not? I’m just trying to understand. You’re not wrong, people rarely tell me no. It’s unusual, and I’m so sorry I’ve given you the impression that I’ll be any trouble. I don’t mean to be. I think we got off on the wrong foot. As inconvenient as this is, I don’t mean to make things difficult for you.”

Ben’s eyes narrow suspiciously. He sets the mug down on the counter to his side and answers, “I don’t take orders from you because you aren’t the one who hired me. Any rules I enforce are your grandfather’s.”

“Oh, okay. That makes sense,” Rey nods, a little dumbly. Her smile is close to real—she’s perfected it over the years, so it’s no surprise at all that the tension in his shoulders visibly relaxes when she adds, “That’s fine, I guess. I understand. It’s so disappointing though, I wanted to go to that bakery… bring something nice back for my grandfather. But I understand. It’s just to keep me safe, and you’re only doing your job.”

A little sigh leaves his mouth, and she tries not to stare. “Good. We’ll be staying here today.”

The poor man probably thinks this’ll be easy. She almost pities him.

“Okay,” she nods again. “Maybe you’d watch a holovid with me? We’ve got lots to choose from, and I’d love the company. And, about the bakery… you think maybe if I got my grandfather’s permission, you’d come with me when it’s safer? I think you’d love it there, they’ve got all kinds of pastries.”

It’s unnecessary at this point, but Ben seems amusingly convinced by her act, so she gets even closer, until there’s hardly a foot between them. It’ll be an interesting test, seeing how gullible he is. She lets her wide gaze wander over his chest and shoulders before she looks up into confused, curious brown eyes. Her hair is still a little messy from sleep, and sleep pants with a sweater is hardly her most beguiling look, but the slight flush that rises on his cheeks gives him away. Annoyingly, she doesn’t have to fake the attraction.

“Maybe staying in wouldn’t be bad,” she says softly. “We could get to know each other better. Wouldn’t it be nice to know more about who you’re protecting?”

His lips part, just for a second before they flatten back into a line. “That would be fine,” he finally replies, his voice wavering. “It would be helpful to know your routines.”

Rey makes a point of letting her tongue flick out over her bottom lip, and it’s obvious when his eyes track the movement. Before she forgets that he’s _Senator Organa’s son_ , she backs away, giving him a smile. “It’s so cold in here. I’m going to get a heavier sweater, would you mind pouring my caf when it’s finished? Meet you in the living room for a holovid?”

Ben seems both surprised and relieved. “Sure. Do you take your caf with sugar?”

“Yes, please.”

Once he has his back turned, she spins on her heels and rushes out of the kitchen as quietly as she can, shucking off her slippers in favor of flats she left by the turbolift doors. Most trips outside the apartment involve her dressing up a bit more, but her freedom is a single set of closed turbolift doors away. She settles for wearing sleep pants under the ankle-length cloak she grabs on the way out.

It isn’t until the turbolift doors close behind her that she lets out a long breath, which ends up turning into sort of a cackle.

This method of escape probably won’t work again, but when Rey tastes fresh air a minute later, there’s no doubt her excursion will be worth whatever hell she’ll get when she returns to the apartment.

\--*--

One thing Rey’s come to learn in the last decade is that Coruscant is a beautiful, terrible place. At first glance, Galactic City seems bustling with life and culture, with wealth galore for all its citizens. It seems endless. A person could spend their whole life absorbing the knowledge and entertainment its countless museums, restaurants, concert halls, and universities offer. 

And it’s easy to pretend that’s all there is to Coruscant, if you’re blind. If you’ve never gone hungry.

On Jakku, the biggest commodity Rey knew of was food. There was never enough of it, no way to get enough to save some just in case she got sick and needed a few days off scavenging to get better. It was what she slaved for, day in, day out. Lack of food was what caused violence, death, rebellion. Food, and access to it (or lack thereof), split the wealthy from the people who were so poor they were days from death. 

On Coruscant, that commodity is sunlight and fresh air.

Rey leaves the bakery just outside of Monument Plaza carrying an armful of packaged breads and considerably fewer credits in her personal account than she had twenty minutes earlier. Sula Tanau is waiting for her outside with the rest of their haul.

The woman reminds her just a little too much of a woman—another scavenger—she used to see around Plutt’s. The older woman she was terrified of becoming.

Wrapped in a dusty gray cloak, Sula gives her a grin, hefting one of the boxes Rey hands her onto the cart. Wind whips around them, making a mess of the woman’s loose white hair. She’s got a twinkle in her eye, and not for the first time, Rey wonders if Sula knows she is not, in fact, Kira, a wealthy family’s assistant who happens to be well-paid enough to toss her money away on large batches of food and clothes for beings in Coruscant’s lower levels. Her cover isn’t a great one, but she can get away with more as Kira than she can as Rey, and Sula never asks many questions.

“So. Haven’t seen you in a few weeks,” Sula comments, frowing at one of the boxes as she tries to steady it on top of the pile. “I’m happy to see you, though, don’t misunderstand. More people every day, stopping into my soup kitchen. Seems like the poor just keep getting more poor. You’re lucky you live up here.”

With a sinking feeling in her gut, Rey looks at the pile the two of them have spent her money on. It’s been two hours since she left the apartment and stopped into Sula’s, and since then, the two of them have put together an entire overloaded cart of food, clothes, and various medical supplies that don’t require some sort of doctor’s permission to purchase. Her shoulders droop as she says softly, “It feels like a drop in the bucket. Does it really even help?”

Sula sighs grimly. “It’ll make a difference to someone. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah,” Rey murmurs. She purses her lips and nods to the woman, “You’ll let me know when you need more?”

The woman huffs a laugh. “Girl, it’s the underworld.” She gives Rey a sad look. “They’ll always need more. I open up that soup kitchen every morning and we’re always out of supplies by lunch. We were supposed to get another shipment of food donations from the government last week, but it was stolen right out the back of the building.”

Rey blinks at her, asking, “But you reported it, didn’t you? The Coruscant Security Force should know about that. I’m sure Senator Palpatine—”

With a startling dry laugh, Sula interrupts her. “Palpatine? Why would you think he'd want to help?” She shakes her head, leaning in, and Rey tugs the hood of her cloak down a little further—the odds of Sula recognizing her are slim without makeup and her usual formal way of dressing, but she isn’t taking more of a chance than she needs to. “You be careful who you trust, hm?” Sula whispers. “Now I don’t know which family you work for, but if they live up here, chances are they’ve got their fingers in something. You be careful.”

Sula gives her one more quick look before she turns, pushing the cart off toward an ancient-looking airspeeder.

When she’s far enough away, Rey drops her hood, tucking her hair behind one ear. She watches the woman get further and further away.

Her stomach turns.

“There you are,” sighs a breathless voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She whips around, wide-eyed, and sees one of the last people she wants to see.

Ben, dressed from head-to-toe in black, is standing a few feet from her wearing such a frustratingly handsome scowl, she considers wiping it off his face with her fist. A dramatic black cape ripples in the wind behind him.

“Did you have a nice time at the bakery, Miss Palpatine?” he bites. “Did you sample plenty of pastries? I hope you did, because we’re going back to your apartment _now.”_

Maybe she’s just frustrated, either at the lack of freedom or the lack of power to fix the galaxy’s problems, but something makes her snap back, “Is that really what you thought I was doing? Did you honestly think I was simply indulging, that I slipped my kriffing bodyguard because I felt like enjoying a snack?”

His eyes are cold as he stares her down. “What was it, then? What was important enough to risk your life for? Or are you such a child, you didn’t stop to consider this could be dangerous?”

“None of your business.”

“In fact, you are my business,” he argues. He takes a step closer, and it forces her to look up to hold eye contact. When he speaks again, his voice is lower. “You must know that won’t work a second time, so what was so important that you had to leave the apartment this morning? And don’t claim it isn’t my business—you are my job.”

Rey rolls her eyes, then pushes the conversation toward a different direction. “Speaking of your job, you didn’t give me time yesterday to ask why the hell my grandfather would hire his opponent’s son.” She looks him up and down, glowering. “I have a feeling you don’t have much experience being a bodyguard.”

“I don’t.”

She waits for more of an answer, but it quickly becomes clear that one isn’t coming. 

“Why were you hired, then?” she prods. “Have you at least done something similar to protecting someone?”

There’s a little quirk to his mouth. “I’ve… guarded people. In a way. You’re much more difficult than any of them, though.” At her tired expression, he grins slowly. “At least if any of them gave me trouble, I could shoot them in the leg and claim a lesser fee. Wouldn’t get the full bounty, but it was worth it.” He clicks his tongue, giving a little shake of his head. “Can’t do that with you. Like I said, more difficult.”

It takes her a moment, but finally she sighs. “You’re a bounty hunter. My grandfather hired a _bounty hunter?_ Gods, no wonder Senator Organa never mentions her son. You’re probably a kriffing criminal.”

“I’m hardly the worst of my family tree.”

Rey sighs again, tilting her head up at him. “So that’s it, then. He hired you because you… what? You can think more like a criminal? Does he think you’ll be more likely to recognize risky situations or something? Or do you charge less than a proper bodyguard? I don’t get it.”

It’s a long moment before Ben replies, and when he does, his words are carefully chosen.

“I’m sure your grandfather had many reasons to hire me. I’m not privy to those reasons, nor do I care to know them. I only know I’m here to do a job.” He leans in, then, and says, “To do that, I need to you stop being a brat. You’re going to come back to the apartment and _let me do my job._ Yes?”

“Do I have a choice?”

He lets out another humorless laugh, and gives her a look. “No. You don’t.” His arms fold over his chest. He glances around, then gazes back to her with steely eyes that are suddenly less personable than those of most strangers. “You could try to argue,” he admits with a click of his tongue, “but I don’t suggest wasting your time. I can promise you, it’s often not worth the fight. Your grandfather strikes me as a man who gets what he wants, and what he wants is you inside your apartment.” 

While wind whips around them, they share what feels like a challenging stare-off. What would happen if she simply refused? Would he go so far as to attempt to carry her off, back to the apartment? Would she be treated as more of a child and be threatened with the removal of her datapad or books? 

It’s hard to feel threatened once you’ve felt starvation, once you’ve almost died of exposure, once you’ve felt your lips crack from dehydration.

Ben’s words come out softly, almost sympathetically, with the slightest edge. “Time to go back to your cage, little bird.”

She flinches. 

He waits for her response, staring down at her like he’s just waiting for her to admit to herself that she has no other options. Because she doesn’t. Not really. No one else loves her, no one else cares. No loving parents are waiting for her to come back to Jakku, nobody out in the galaxy will have sympathy for the poor little rich girl who feels trapped and alone. 

Nobody feels bad for the bird in the beautiful cage, not when its owner claims he rescued it from a worse fate. 

“Fine,” she shudders, trying to keep her voice even. It almost breaks. “Okay. Fine.”

\--*--

Water sloshes over the sides of the overflow tub, trickling into the drains that surround it and keep the water from flooding the rest of Armie’s fresher. The room is filled with the scent of mycosia flowers from a foamy bubble bath she made use of, and Rey breathes it in, trying to forget her afternoon… trying to forget that his mouth looked as soft as his words sounded.

_Time to go back to your cage, little bird._

“Did you get lost?” Armie asks, sounding appalled as he glances into his fresher and spots her. “Did you forget that you have your own fresher, and your own soaker tub?”

Rey groans at the intrusion. “You have things that smell nice. This bubble bath foam and those salt-things.”

He sighs loudly. “If you’re going to insist on using my things, can I please introduce you to a face mask? Rey, your pores—”

“Are _fine,_ thank you,” she frowns. Crossing her arms over her foam-covered chest, she does her best not to pout, and argues, “My skin is perfectly fine. Your whole fifty-step regiment is a bit much, I think.”

Armie rolls his eyes at her. He takes her fluffy black towel off the fresher counter and sits it on the edge of the tub, then settles on it and gives her a stare. “I love you, I do. But I’m afraid I have a little bad news for you. You’re lovely, but as it turns out, a childhood spent on a desert planet and then an utter and blatant disregard for skincare on a city planet can take its toll. Please. It’s only a face mask. It won’t bite.” 

She wrinkles her nose. “Will it smell bad?”

“Gods you’re such a child,” he mutters, leaning toward a cabinet drawer. He pulls it open and brings out a small white packet. “Really, with all the events we go to, it’s a wonder you haven’t been forced into some sort of spa. This is much less inconvenient.”

The truth is, she doesn’t mind at all. She likes that he sits at the edge of the tub and smooths the mildly scented cream over her face, muttering about how difficult she is. She likes that he teases her and gives her a hard time, like the sibling she never had until he moved in. It’s nice, having someone care.

While her eyes are closed, he spreads the cream over her forehead, and mentions casually, “So I woke up to something fascinating this morning. A very angry bodyguard, going room-to-room looking for you. His incessant knocking on your bedroom door woke me up, all the way down the hall. I don’t think he appreciated your little ploy. By the time I found him, he was yelling.” 

Rey can’t help the way her mouth turns up into a grin, and Armie laughs, “Yes, I thought you might like to hear that. Have I mentioned, he’s very attractive when angry? In a dangerous, scary sort of way? Very attractive and a terrible idea, so naturally I’m sure he’s caught your attention.”

Rey snorts, and it ends up turning into a full-blown laugh as Armie tries to finish up his work with the face mask. “I think Ben must have calmed down by the time he found me, because he seemed more annoyed than angry.”

“Ah, so he’s _Ben?_ ” Armie hums. “Very interesting.”

“Well what else am I supposed to call him? Mister Solo?”

At that, Armie pauses. His mouth opens, then closes into a frown. “I’m sorry,” he says abruptly, “But did you just say Solo? Is that a joke? You have the oddest sense of humor.”

“Oh gods, you don’t know?” Her head falls back against a padded rest behind her, and her shoulders shake in silent laughter. “I don’t know what Grandfather was thinking, but I’m not kidding. He’s Senator Organa’s son. Apparently he gets work as a bounty hunter—you wouldn’t believe what he said to me today. It seems I’m worse than his usual work because when he has a difficult bounty he can just shoot them in the leg, but that’s not an option for me.”

Armie huffs. “Charming. And Senator Palpatine knows he’s Organa’s son, yes?”

She nods, and gives a little shrug as she sinks further into the warm water. “Ben doesn’t know why he was hired either. He says it’s not his job to know.”

“Interesting,” he murmurs. For a moment, he stares off into the distance. Her brow furrows as she watches him, but then suddenly he snaps out of it and glances over to her. “So anyway, this morning? You managed to slip out?”

Rey grins. “Ah. Yes. I decided I didn’t feel like enjoying his company this morning, so I… handled it.”

After a long stare, Armie covers his face with his hands and groans. “Tell me you didn’t flirt with the poor man to catch him off-guard. He’s, what, a decade your senior? And he’s Leia Organa’s son. Even if he can be trusted, it’s only because he’s being paid, so please, tell me you didn’t. ”

Rolling her eyes, she flicks water at him, laughing when he puts his hands up to defend himself.

“I didn’t! Not really.” At his look of disbelief, Rey sighs and explains, “Well. I sort of did, but mostly I was sweet. You know. I acted like the good girl who was sad about the rules, but would never break them. Worked like a charm.”

“Oh, what a terrible idea,” Armie mumbles, casting his eyes up at the ceiling dramatically. “I’m going to go gray because of you.” His gaze drops back to her. “You do understand that having a bodyguard is for your own good, don’t you? Slipping past him to go gallivanting around Galactic City on his first day may not be the best way to build that employer-employee relationship.”

“Mmm, that’s the thing. As he’s made abundantly clear, he doesn’t work for me. I’m simply the problem he’s been hired to manage.”

“Problem, indeed,” he mutters, then throws up his hands preemptively when Rey flicks more water at him.

She itches at the edge of the drying mask that covers her face, and when a comfortable silence falls between them, a thought crosses her mind. “Yesterday morning, Poe Dameron crashed the campaign speech and mentioned things are getting worse with protesting in the Outer Rim? What do you think the odds are that Grandfather would consider making me an emissary to the Outer Rim now that I have a bodyguard? I tried telling him, I really do think I could help get votes from those senators, and—”

“Not a chance,” Armie interrupts, but it’s not rude, exactly. It’s more like he knows there’s no hope, and he wants her to save her breath. He crosses his arms. “Your time is better spent on other things anyway, don’t you think? Why not see if you can perfect that miserable cake-thing you tried last week? Perhaps this time it won’t break any teeth.”

With a scoff, she mutters, “Maybe I’m good for something more than baking.”

“I never said you were good for baking,” he says under his breath.

The look she gives him is tired. “You know what I mean.” Her shoulders sink further under the water as she bends her knees, wrapping her arms around them. “Is this really just my life? This apartment? What’s the harm in letting me try to help? I don’t understand—I’m good for Grandfather’s image, I’m sure that’s ninety-percent the reason I’m even here, so why not let me work? I could be meeting the other senators, telling them why Grandfather’s a better candidate for First Senator than Organa. I’m here, I’m bored out of my mind, why not _use_ me?” 

For once, Armie doesn’t have a sharp response. He doesn’t even meet her eyes.

She presses on. “Or, if he doesn’t think I’m ready for that, why not let me work as your assistant? He lets you work for him, why can’t—”

“I barely started a year ago,” Armie says in a hush, still looking down at his shoes. “I’m hardly doing anything of note.”

“I don’t care if it’s getting you coffee while you help write his campaign speeches, anything is better that this.”

His eyes have gone glassy when she glances up at him desperately. They’re out of focus, dull. Rey’s brow furrows, but before she can say more, he clears his throat and snaps out of it, shaking his head at her. “Don’t assume that’s true,” he argues, but all the fight’s left his voice. “You’ve got it better than you think. You’re just bored. Why not see about a new hobby? Hire a tutor or maybe take some classes? Doesn’t GCU offer classes via holo? I’m sure Senator Palpatine would allow that.”

As the water around her chills, goosebumps raise along her skin. She considers his words, and asks slowly, “What do you mean, ‘I’ve got it better than I think’?” Her eyes narrow. “What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly. He gives her an uncharacteristically casual shrug, and a smile that doesn’t get anywhere near his eyes. “Just boring work. There’s nothing to tell.”

Part of her wants to say something, wants to say how obvious it is that he’s lying. But part of her knows she must be imagining things. After all, why would he lie? Armie doesn’t lie to her—that’s both the best and worst part of their friendship.

“Maybe you have a point,” she says carefully. “Maybe I’ll put in an order for painting supplies, or more gardening supplies.” Her voice sounds thin and faint, even to her, but she adds in a way she hopes is convincing, “I’m just bored, obviously.”

Rey watches the way his shoulders sag with relief.

The longer she looks at his half-hearted smile, the more she thinks her goosebumps may not be from the cooling water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)
> 
> [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)


	3. Chapter 3

Time passes so slowly. A few days go by, and Rey convinces herself she’s just biding her time and lulling Ben into a false sense of victory until she figures out the best way to sneak out of the apartment. A little over a week after his move-in, once she’s figured out what time he tends to leave his room in the morning, she wakes well before he does, dresses warmly, and slips out of her bedroom. She pads toward the turbolift, only to find that the passcode has been changed. 

That’s when things start to fade to gray. It happens over a few weeks of failed baking attempts, aggressive stress-relieving workouts, countless holovid marathons, and half a dozen new hobbies that she goes through one after another, her frustration growing with each day. 

Briefly, she contemplates putting daily notches into her bedroom wall.

It gets harder and harder to get out of bed each morning. Her reasons for doing so start to disappear with every day that passes.

One gray morning, she doesn’t bother. She stares up at the fabric ceiling of her bed and zones out as her alarm blares on and on. Everything rushes through her mind—her concerns for Sula and the woman’s soup kitchen and shelter, her fear that every day will be the same monotony she’ll never get used to, her desperate need to shake off the invisible chains. 

The thoughts, fears, and concerns run through her mind and then fade away into gray, along with her motivation and… everything else. 

Her morning routine has faded, too. It’s become impossible to say those words.

Rey curls her arms around a pillow, presses her face into it, and screams. She screams until her throat is raw, and it comes out with a sob. She soaks her pillow with all the tears she’s been holding back. The feeling of desperate, bleak sadness isn’t a new one. She spent countless nights crying for her parents on Jakku, crying for food, for love, for _anything,_ but now… now she’d give anything to go back.

It barely registers when someone grips her shoulder and starts shaking. Whether she’s shaking, or he’s shaking her, it’s hard to tell. She didn’t even realize someone came into her room.

His voice breaks through the gray.

“Miss Palpatine? What’s going on?” Ben asks urgently. His hand slips to her upper arm, tightens, and pulls her up. “Hey, what happened? What’s going on? Rey?”

Her eyes are puffy and aching when she cracks them open, hiccuping quietly. She wipes at them, then notices his wide, worried expression. It’s easily the most emotion she’s seen from him, and a weight settles over her chest with the guilt of how scared he looks. Slowly, he sits at the edge of her bed, still holding onto her. 

His usual loose sweater looks soft, and he leans in a little closer, demanding, “What happened? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

She sits up, scoots back against her headboard, and draws her knees to her chest. Her voice is hoarse when she speaks. “Just a bad dream.” 

It’s not a lie. Not really. 

Rey tries to plaster on a smile, but her mouth feels permanently stuck, turned down. “Why are you in here?”

“I heard you from the kitchen, did you really think I wouldn’t let myself in?” The frown he wears deepens. “A bad dream? Are you sure that’s all it was?”

A half-hearted nod is all she can muster up. As she wipes at her eyes again, Ben works his mouth like he wants to say something.

“Really. It was just a dream,” she murmurs, glancing away. 

After a long moment, he replies hesitantly, “Right. Okay.”

His hand is still on her upper arm. Rey only remembers when he squeezes again, just before he says, “Come on. Caf’s ready.” He pauses again, and offers, “You could eat breakfast on the balcony. I went out on it this morning, it should be warm enough with a sweater. If you want. Fresh air might help.”

In the past weeks he’s seemed content to ignore her, rarely even bothering to leave his room after knowing she found the code to the turbolift door changed. He comes out for meals and deliveries, probably to make sure she doesn’t slip out, but otherwise leaves her alone. Even Armie has kept his distance, too busy with campaign work to spend much time at home. The combination of both of them keeping their distance—voluntarily or not—has only added to the weight of her sadness.

Rey sniffs again, wiping at her face. “Will you join me? Please? I know it’s not your job, but since you plan to keep me here, the least you could do is keep me company. I'd rather not be alone out there.”

“Don’t blame me for you being stuck here,” he mutters. His jaw goes tight. “I’m only doing a job. I think you forget—where you go, I go, so you’re not the only one who hasn’t left this apartment. Your grandfather seems to think this what’s best, and given the threats he says you’ve received, I don’t blame him for being concerned.”

Anger flares, and _oh,_ anger is so much easier than sadness. It’s easier to act on, easier to understand, easier to manage, so she funnels everything gray into _red_ and blurts, “That’s different, you could leave! Don’t compare us,” she snarls. She smacks the hand off her upper arm, pushing herself back away from him, and says, “You could leave whenever you want! I’m trapped, I may as well be a prisoner—you’re choosing to do a job. You see that those are completely different things, don’t you?”

Ben doesn’t respond in kind, much to her surprise. He’s quiet for a bit. He rests a hand on her bed, and nods. 

“You’re right,” he admits. “It’s not the same. But I also didn’t know how upset you were.” His eyes flick to hers, and he asks lowly, “That wasn’t a bad dream, was it?”

She huffs out a breath. “Sometimes I think all of this is a bad dream.”

Ben nods again. He stands, and holds a tentative hand out to her. “Come on,” he says, as she frowns at his offered hand. When her glare cuts to him, his voice softens. “Even caged little birds eat, don’t they?”

Her mouth flattens into a line. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to insult me with that.”

“If I wanted to insult you, I’d be calling you a brat. Are you coming, or not?”

His hand is still outstretched, waiting for her. She glowers at it. “Why do you care if I eat breakfast?”

Tiredly, he replies, “I have a feeling your grandfather won’t be pleased if you starve to death while locked in your apartment with me. Come to breakfast. I have good news for you, but you don’t get to hear it unless you join me.”

Rey narrows her eyes at him, but against her better judgment, she reaches out and takes his hand.

\--*--

“What’s going on?”

The way she blurts it out is rude, but the moment she sits down at the little round metal table she and Armie take brunch at once in a while, her suspicion spikes. Ben’s right about the weather—it’s not warm (Coruscant never is), but it’s warm enough so that she’ll get through a meal without shivering. If Armie had woken her up and tugged her out onto the balcony to surprise her with a breakfast spread, well, that wouldn't be a shock. Making meals is a nice thing they do for each other once in a while, despite neither of them being able to cook well. 

This is hardly in Ben’s job description, though. Hence the suspicion.

Her eyes widen at the plate of cut fruit, the pastries he must have sent out for, and the eggs that are still steaming, heaped onto toast. 

Gazing over the table at where he’s already spooning cut fruit onto a plate in front of him, she repeats, “Seriously, what’s going on?”

“Let’s consider it a bribe,” he says lightly. Abandoning the fruit, he leans back in his wire-frame chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Let’s say you’ll have an opportunity to leave the apartment soon, and it would make my job much easier if you didn’t use it as a chance to run away.” He waves a hand at the table of food. “This is me, showing you that I can be agreeable if you don’t purposely make my job more difficult.”

Most of his words don’t make it to her—she stopped listening somewhere around _you’ll have an opportunity to leave._

Rey leans in, snatching a starfruit pastry. “Where are we going?”

“Ah ah,” he tsks. “One thing at a time. I said you’ll have an _opportunity_ to leave the apartment, but that’s if you promise you won’t take off the minute I open the turbolift doors.”

She takes a massive bite of the starfruit pastry, groaning at the perfect sweetness of it, then swallows, and studies him. He’s annoyingly blank, giving little away as he waits for her answer.

With a sigh, she says, “To use your metaphor… if I promise to behave when you let me out to stretch my wings, you’ll make my cage nicer? Is that right? How kind of you.”

“My ability to do so is limited,” he warns. “Your grandfather wants you here as much as possible, but…”

Her brow furrows. “But?”

Ben works his mouth, not meeting her eyes. “But… I think I know why you’ve been so insistent on leaving. You understand that I have access to everything of yours, for the purposes of finding you if you disappear, don’t you? It wasn’t luck or a coincidence when I found you near that bakery. At the time I didn’t know what you were doing there—I’d only checked your most recent charge, but curiosity got the best of me. I’ve been looking into your spending habits more in the past few days, and I wanted to talk with you about what I’ve found.”

Her whole body goes rigid when she realizes what he’s saying. Nobody—not even Armie—knows what she does with her personal account. As far as she knows nobody else has access except to deposit credits, though… clearly that’s not the case.

Ben says it casually, over the rim of a mug of caf. “You spent more credits in two hours than many people on this planet will ever see, and all you bought was food and medical supplies.” His eyes flick to hers. “When I found you, you had none of it. It was strange, so I looked into your spending history and found that you’ve been making similar purchases for a few years. When I couldn’t figure out what you were doing, I happened to look into your personal history.”

She sucks in a quiet breath, and he adds softly, “That’s when things started to make more sense.”

“That’s enough,” Rey interrupts, pushing back from the table. He’s talking about it so plainly, like he’s not about to rip open a wound that’s hardly healed, and the urge to throw something at him is stifling. She stands, and snaps, “I might be your job, but my past is none of your business.”

“Sit. Down.”

She stills at his words and glares at him. “Give me one reason I should.”

Ben hesitates, huffing a humorless laugh. “It’s like you’re incapable of being reasonable.” He gestures to her chair and repeats, “Sit. I’m trying to do something nice. You’d know that if you let me talk.”

When she refuses, he pats at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and sighs. “Fine, how’s this for a reason? Sit down, hear me out, eat some breakfast, and we can spend the whole day outside the apartment. Your grandfather has an event later this week. He’d like you to attend, and while you could have someone bring outfit options here for you to choose from, I could also tell your grandfather you need to go in person. For a fitting or something, I don’t know. It would just be for a day, but it’s something.”  
  
She sits almost immediately, then scowls at Ben’s grin.

“Good,” he hums. “I was hoping that would work. So back to what I was saying—I looked into your history, and I admit, I’m surprised I didn’t know it earlier. Your grandfather’s certainly used it to bolster his campaign, hasn’t he?” Ben’s eyes meet hers, and his smile turns sad. “You were donating that food, and those meds, weren’t you? Because you know what it’s like to not have those things?”

Rey swallows. She folds her arms over her chest, tightening them. “What’s your point? If you have one, get to it. Quickly.”

“What’s my—” Ben stops and sighs again, wiping a hand down his face. “You really don’t make things easy, Rey. My _point_ is that you could have told me you were spending a small fortune on things to give away to beings in need. I thought you left that day because you were a spoiled brat who was being a little rebellious.”

“And you don’t think that now?”

His mouth quirks, and he waves a hand in a so-so manner. “I think I assumed some things that may not have been true. You have yet to disprove all my assumptions, but this was a pleasant surprise.”

Rey nods, grabbing another pastry off the platter between them. “Okay, fine. I promise not to take off when we leave the apartment. On one condition.”

He gestures for her to continue, and she says, “If I need a dress for this event my grandfather has, I want to send out for one. Feel free to tell my grandfather whatever you need to. Tell him I have a special fitting we needed to go to, whatever. If we go outside today, I want it to be a trip for more supplies. The place I donate to had a shipment go missing, and they’re always low on supplies as it is. If I leave the apartment, I want to gather things for them.”

Ben stares at her for a long moment before he says, “Let me make sure I understand. Today is first time in almost a month that you’re getting to leave the apartment, and rather than spending it shopping for clothes or trinkets, you want to help restock a soup kitchen’s supplies?”

“It functions as a shelter, too. And yes. Please,” she murmurs, trying not to sound as desperate as she is.

To her relief, he nods. “Okay. Sure.”

She lets out a breath. “Thank you.” She glances back over her shoulder. “We should go before Armie wakes up, or he’ll want to come with us. He doesn’t know about this, and I don’t even do this under my own name—the woman who takes my donations knows me as Kira. She thinks I work for a wealthy family.”

“Hux may not be an issue. He was out late. Didn’t come back until early this morning.”

Something about that catches her attention. “That doesn’t make sense. He went to bed after we watched a holovid. Same time as me.”

Ben shrugs. “I track usage for the turbolift. He left after you went to bed, came back early this morning.”

“That’s weird,” she breathes, trying to think of any reason he’d have to leave at such an odd time. “I wonder where he went.”

“I don’t know, he’s not the person I’m here to watch,” he says quietly. Clearing his throat, he nods to the food in front of them. “I’ll pack this up if you’re done. We can leave soon. Maybe we can get lunch somewhere in the city, if it won’t be too much of an interruption to all your charity work?”

She nods a little blankly, ignoring his tone. “Sure. Yeah, that’d be good.”

And it is good, but she can’t help but feel like there’s something she’s missing.

\--*--

The fresh air still tastes crisp and sweet, even hours into their excursion. It’s made even sweeter by the feeling of a heavy weight lifted off her chest. 

True to Ben’s word, she had freedom not twenty minutes after their breakfast, and he’s dutifully followed her all morning into the early afternoon, helping her place and pay for orders for Sula to pick up later and take to the soup kitchen and shelter.

He’s been quiet the entire time. Whether he’s giving her space or whether he has something on his mind, Rey can’t tell. He just follows a few steps behind her with an intimidating glare and and an air of boredom.

Around halfway through a silent lunch of typical deliciously greasy Coruscanti street food, Rey blurts, “I haven’t talked to anyone but Armie in weeks, and he’s been busier than usual, so you _need_ to talk to me.”

Ben snorts. “That’s not in my job description. I don’t need to do anything. If you would like to have a conversation, maybe try politely starting one rather than insisting I follow your orders.” 

She resists the urge to dump her bottle of water over his head and plasters on a saccarine smile. “Oh please, Mister Bodyguard sir, grace me with the honor of a conversation. I’ll forever be beholden to you.”

Ben quirks a brow over at her. “See, this is exactly why I think you can be a brat.”

“Shut up and talk with me,” Rey laughs. It feels like ages since she’s _laughed_ , so she grins at him—a genuine one this time, and she asks, “What do you think of Coruscant?”

Ben takes a moment, like he’s surveying the area they’ve chosen to take lunch at—a bench overlooking a fountain near the Senate Building—and he grimaces.

“I’ve never liked this planet.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Mm, single word answers. Love those. Has anyone ever told you you talk too much?” she teases. At Ben’s eyeroll, she huffs a laugh and looks out at the city in front of them. “Yeah, I don’t like it, either. Did you know this planet used to have seas? It was thousands of years ago, but it was just seas and mountains.” She gets quiet, kind of like she’s talking to herself, and murmurs, “Sometimes I wonder what it used to look like. I bet it was better.”

“I’m sure it was,” Ben finally replies. “This planet is dead, now. It’s a shame.”

“Right, you grew up on Alderaan, didn't you? That’s where Senator Organa’s from? Isn’t that all fields and lakes and mountains?”

He tsks. “No, we’re not talking about that. Since I’m _gracing you with the honor of a conversation,_ we’re going to talk about what I want.” He meets her eyes, giving her a curious look. “Why on earth do you support your grandfather’s politics? I thought knowing more about your background would make it make sense, but how does someone with your past become a Centrist?”

The bluntness takes her by surprise, almost so much that she recoils.

“I—okay, honest answer? As his granddaughter, I may wish he was different, but as a person who grew up alone on a harsh planet with little political oversight, I think he’s right. Do you know how different my life would have been under a Centrist government?” She glares at him, unblinking, and demands, “Do you have any idea what sort of awful things happen in this galaxy?”

Ben tilts his head. “Do you? Do you even know what sort of things go on behind closed doors right here in Galactic City? Never mind Centrists and Populists—the very position of First Senator is dangerous. Consolidation of power might work in theory, but put it in practice and you’ve got something that could do a lot more harm than good.”

“Well sure, but someone like my grandfather would be excellent for the position.”

His brows raise at that, and Rey replies defensively, “What? You disagree?”

“I think you mean well, but you have a very naive understanding of galactic politics. A naive understanding of a lot of things, if I’m being honest.” At her glower, he adds, “I think your views are short-sighted. A person trying to get elected will promise voters anything they need to. Do you really think your grandfather cares about the orphans growing up on desert planets? You’re his own flesh and blood and as far as I can tell, he doesn’t even care about _you.”_

It’s like a slap in the face. A brutal, painfully honest slap in the face.

Her cheeks heat from embarrassment, anger, shame, a dozen things, probably.

“Wow,” she says thinly. She stands and brushes imaginary crumbs off the front of her cloak, and tries to keep her voice steady as she looks at anything but him. “Maybe you’re right, maybe we don’t need to have conversations.”

Swallowing what feels like a rock, Rey turns and starts walking toward their private airspeeder. She’s so busy lost in a mix of emotions, somewhere between fuming mad and wishing he wasn’t right, it takes Ben grabbing her hand for her to realize he followed her.

Surprised, she turns back to him, ready to rip her hand away from his and yell, but she startles at his expression. It’s sort of tender. Apologetic, even.

“I didn’t say it to be cruel,” he mutters. He lets go of her hand, and briefly she misses the warmth. “I meant that he doesn’t deserve your blind faith in him.” His mouth tightens in a frown. “I think you know that, too. If you didn’t, why would you feel the need to do things like making large donations without telling him?”

Rey opens her mouth to argue, but hesitates.

He… has a point.

For some reason, she’s never considered it. Her side-project just seemed like a thing she should keep to herself, but _why?_

“The thing about growing up alone, keeping yourself alive,” Ben says quietly, “Is that, if you manage to survive, it’s because you’ve developed good instincts. It’s because you’ve learned to listen to your gut when it’s trying to tell you something.”

He leans in, enough to make something flutter in her chest. His eyes drop lower, maybe to her mouth. “Go back to listening to your instincts, Rey.”

Rey stands there, rigid as a statue as he pulls away and walks off to the airspeeder, and she tries to figure out why there was an undercurrent of threat to his tone.

More importantly, she tries to figure out why her instinct is to trust him.

\--*--

> **Rey** When are you coming home? I had such a strange day. Really weird, not great, I think?  
>  **Armie** Didn’t your bodyguard take you for a dress fitting today? Oh yes, poor you.  
>  **Rey** At least come watch a holovid with me tonight? I have cookies.  
>  **Armie** Is that a threat? I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for food poisoning today.  
>  **Rey** I didn’t make them, nerfherder, I bought them while we were out.  
>  **Armie** That’s better. Still, I’ll be home late and then I’ll only have time for a late dinner and a shower before I leave again.  
>  **Rey** What? Why? Why are you working such late hours? Ben said you went out after I fell asleep last night.  
>  **Armie** Good to know tall, dark, and brooding is a tattletale. I’ve been working on flipping Mon Mothma. She’s determined to vote Organa.   
> **Rey** Oh. Just campaign work, then?  
>  **Armie** Of course. I’m meeting with her representatives again tonight.

Rey reads and rereads the messages hours after they were sent and received. Lately it’s been hard to focus on things, but it’s impossible to pull herself away from rereading these kriffing messages. She wants to trust Armie and she has little reason not to, except…

Except Senator Mothma would never flip her vote. The woman is practically at Senator Organa’s hip whenever Rey happens to see them, which admittedly isn’t often, but _still._ It’s a waste of time. Even her grandfather would say so. Furthermore, why would their representatives be meeting with Armie in the middle of the night? 

Not only is it strange, it’s suspicious. The more she considers it, the more she feels a weight, like someone sitting on her chest. 

The decision to follow him out is an easy one. The tricky part will be getting close enough to see the code he uses for the turbolift doors, and she _may_ need to explain it to Ben tomorrow when he wonders why the system shows Armie leaving the apartment twice in a row, but it’s the only way to know whether she’s being lied to.

After Armie goes into his room for a shower, she picks a spot in the hall—a chair in the shadows of one corner where he won’t notice her when he comes back out. The chair is just padded enough to be comfortable without drawing her in far enough to make her fall asleep.

A little after one in the morning, she’s still looking at those messages, and finally starting to wonder if she’s wasting her time. After all, Armie claimed it was just late-night campaign work, and has he ever really given her a reason to not trust him?

Rey’s about to stand up and walk back to her bedroom, but then Ben’s words echo in her mind.

_Go back to listening to your instincts._

The bedroom door at the other end of the hall slides open suddenly, and Rey grips the arm of the chair she’s in. It’s dark, but unless Ben and Armie have been _very_ good at hiding something from her, Armie is the only person that could be coming out of his room. Her suspicion flares when he casts a gaze toward her own bedroom door, as if making sure she’s closed it and gone to bed.

Rey watches him, holding her breath as he slips out of the hallway and toward the turbolift. He moves more quickly than she expected, so she slides along the hallway in her socks, hoping to get close enough to see whatever code he uses to get out.

Her mind races with all the places he could be going. Maybe it’s just a date and he’s not ready to tell her, or— or maybe it’s something quite a bit worse, even if she’s not sure what that would be.

Just as she’s about to turn the corner and risk being in Armie’s line of sight, a set of hands grabs her. One large and warm hand clamps over her mouth, silencing her surprised yelp, and the other grabs her around the waist, spreading out over her stomach to hold her in place.

Rey struggles against the arms holding her in the hallway, but they only hold her tighter, pulling her against the firm body they belong to. It’s smothering, terrifyingly so. Her breathing comes quickly, and she shudders when she feels warm breath against her ear.

“Quiet, little bird,” he whispers. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

When she places the voice, the swelling panic in her chest dies down. She still tries to pull away from him, even going so far as to elbow him in the side just so he’ll let her go.

“Stop fighting me,” Ben hisses. “Did you really think I’d let you sneak out?” 

The longer he holds her there, overpowering her with frustrating ease, the more pissed off she gets. Her annoyance flares when she hears the turbolift doors, signaling her failure to see Armie’s code. It feels like her heart’s about to pound out of her chest, and she can hear her blood rushing —heat flushing through her whole body with how pissed off she is. It’s bad enough to be kept in a cage, but being forcibly held in it is even worse.

Without really thinking, she bats at his arms, and then _bites._

Ben lets her go, ripping the hand from her mouth with a startled, “Hey, _ow,_ what the—”

Spinning around toward him, Rey scowls at him in the darkness. “How dare you manhandle me! What made you think that was okay? I didn’t even realize that was you, do you know how terrifying that was? What if you were a thief or an assassin, or—”

She shuts up and glowers at the tired expression on his face. He sighs. “Here I thought we’d agreed that you’d behave.” He gestures toward the turbolift. “Hux left and as far as I know, you don’t know the code, so are you done? Can I please get some sleep now, or do you require more forcible baby-sitting?”

Rey folds her arms over her chest, not bothering with an answer. Any answer she gives at the moment will come out angrily anyway.

“Fine,” Ben groans. He points to her bedroom door. “Go to bed, or I’ll put you in bed myself. You aren’t following Hux out at one in the morning no matter how convinced you are that he’s up to something.”

There’s not a chance he’ll invade her space again, not after she yelled, so Rey juts out her jaw. “You aren’t the one in charge here.”

“Oh, I’m not?” 

“No.” She huffs, moving her hands to her hips. “This is my apartment, and I want to know where he’s going. Follow me if you must, but I’m leaving.”

For a moment, Ben only looks down at her, like he’s trying to determine how serious she is. Then, slowly, he grins. “Cute,” he hums. “But I’m happy to disavow you of that belief.”

Before Rey can register what that might mean, his hands are back around her waist and she’s being heaved up like she weighs as much as a pillow. She lets out an odd squawking yelp, batting at whatever part of him her hands can reach.

“Put me down!” she snaps, pushing away at his shoulder. “Ben! _Put me down!”_

The utter ass has the nerve to laugh. “Look, you had a chance to go back to your room. I told you exactly what would happen if you didn’t. It’s not my fault you didn’t listen.”

“This isn’t funny,” Rey seethes, arguably much more angry at her own body’s reaction than she is at Ben, which is saying something.

Her cheeks feel like they’re burning, and it only gets worse when she realizes how much of her his hands span. 

Just as he walks her into her room, headed for her bed, he laughs again. “It’s a shame you don’t appreciate how funny this is. Personally, I disagree, and since you’re determined to make things difficult, I figure I may as well have fun.”

She’s about to argue, but then she’s falling—he just lets her go with no warning, dropping her onto her bed with an _oof._

Ben stares down at her, an infuriating grin on his lips. “Stay. Now that I know how insistent you are, I’ll be staying at your door for the rest of the night, just in case you decide to try that again.”

“Fuck you,” she spits.

He snorts. “Sorry, I’m afraid that’s not in my job description.”

The sound she makes is akin to a shriek.

She wants to scream into another pillow, and has every intention of doing so until she sees him walk to her door and—horror of horrors—leans with his back against it. He slides down it, keeping his eyes on her the whole time until he’s sitting on her floor, stretching long legs out in front of himself.

“Are—are you serious? You’re staying in my room?” she asks, voice full of disbelief. “I thought you meant you’d be in the hall. I can’t sleep while you’re watching me!”

“That’s not my problem. I’m not the one who tried to sneak out.”

“Excuse me?” she blurts. “Don’t you think this is a violation of my privacy?”

He tilts his head. “I think it’s you finally understanding there are consequences to your actions. You _had_ privacy, until you decided to try to leave this apartment alone in the middle of the night. Either sleep or don’t, but I’m staying right here. You’ve made it clear—the only way I can ensure you’ll stay put is if I watch you. If you stay here all night and don't try to leave, I'll look into why Hux is leaving at night, okay?”

She lets out an exasperated groan. “Fine, but you actually plan to sit in front of my door, not sleeping, for the entire night? Do you understand how unsettling that is?”

“Not my problem.”

Her face screws up, wrinkling her nose, and on impulse, she lobs an overstuffed pillow in his direction, shouting, “Get out of my room!”

Ben catches the pillow and hums. “Oh, that helps.” He shoves it between his back and the door, then adds, “I’ll be much more comfortable now.”

Part of her wants to scream, wants to try and physically kick him out of her room, but…

She takes a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. It’s clear that anger does little to scare him or even bother him, but maybe something else will.

“Well, if you really won’t leave,” she finally says, her voice still threaded with a bit of rage, “If you insist on staying in my room… don’t you think you’d be more comfortable over here?”

For good measure, she runs her hand along the spot next to her.

“With me?” she adds quietly.

For a long, terrifying moment, the room is silent.

“You know,” he says, his voice coming out menacingly gentle, “I can’t decide if I’m flattered or insulted that you think that would work a second time.”

“No, I mean it.” She pats the bed again, softening her tone until it sounds believable. “If you insist on staying, there’s no point in making yourself sore. Not when you could join me.”

“You do understand I’m not a complete fool, right? You just went from raging at me to inviting me into your bed? Sure. Very believable. Fool me once…”

“So you’re confirming it worked the first time?” she interrupts. “Interesting.”

His mouth opens and then shuts quickly. 

It’s lucky he probably can’t see her blush in the darkness.

“Go to sleep, Rey,” he mutters.

She considers pushing the issue, but there’s a tired tone to his voice, and she decides that sleeping on a floor for an entire night might be penance enough. In a brief, _rare_ moment of pity, she balls up one of her blankets, launching it at him.

His eyes meet hers, and lock there for a moment as he clutches the blanket.

Quietly, he admits, “Yes. It worked the first time.” 

It seems like he wants to say more, but the only other thing that comes from his mouth is a whisper of, “Goodnight, Rey.”

Not sure of how to reply, she just doesn’t. She scoots down her bed, rolling over onto her side, and she wraps around a pillow. With her chin tucked into it, she can see Ben staring at her from the doorway with an indecipherable expression.

Despite her arguing, having someone else in the room is a relief.

For the first time in as long as she can remember, none of her dreams are bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)   
>  [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)


	4. Chapter 4

Senator Leia Organa’s voice cuts through the relative silence of her bedroom, her crisp voice sounding from the holoTV Rey only watches when she doesn’t feel like socializing with her apartment-mates. She’s not avoiding Ben, not exactly. It’s more like she’s keeping her distance while trying to figure him out… while trying to figure out how she feels about the memory of him watching her drift off to sleep, just a couple days ago.

“-ighly concerning to see Senator Palpatine gain the following he has,” Organa says, almost in a plea. “Open your eyes,” the woman urges. “See what’s in front of you. The creation of this position is dangerous. If others insist on creating this position, elect me as First Senator and I vow to dismantle it. This galaxy is too large—too complicated—to be consolidating that much power into a single role. I urge you, I _beg_ you, contact your senators. Tell them the galaxy doesn’t need a dictator. No democracy has succeeded under the consolidation of power, and this one won’t be the first to miraculously make it work.”

Rey tilts her head thoughtfully at the screen. She tends not to listen to Senator Organa’s speeches. She’s always imagined them as full of hope—wearily so—and filled to the brim with empty promises, meaningless niceties, and idealistic wishes.

This is anything but. She rests back against her headboard and turns the volume up, curious to hear more.

With her hair braided around her head in a beautiful crown of graying brown hair and a plain deep purple robe any middle class commoner might wear, Senator Organa stares right at whoever’s recording her and says in an unwavering voice, “I won’t promise you a perfect galaxy. I can’t claim I have the ability to fix all our problems overnight. What I _can_ promise is that, as your senator—or First Senator, if elected—I will do whatever I can to put the power to create positive change in the hands of those who care, and those who can be trusted. Whatever power you see fit to grant me, I will spread to those who will do what’s right.”

In a quiet, almost shuddering voice, she adds, “I have a strong suspicion my opponent cannot honestly claim he would do the same. Senator Palpatine claims criminals are threatening to destroy the galaxy. He claims he will keep our children safe, and I understand—I’m a mother, I understand the instinctive need to keep a child safe—but I urge you to ask _how_ he plans to do this. I urge you to demand more from him. Ask what his plan is, because I promise you he doesn’t have one that doesn’t include turning this entire galaxy into a military-run empire.”

Rey bristles at the accusation and switches off the holoTV in annoyance. That’s when she hears seemingly angry voices from outside her door.

Sliding off her bed, she grabs a sweater that’s slung over the back of a lounge chair, and presses her ear to her door.

The voices are muffled, so she cracks opens the door, just a bit, and pokes her head out into the hall. Glancing around, Rey doesn’t see the source of the voices, but she hears them in the living room.

“-both know she’d be upset. You need to consider that,” she hears Ben say in an intense whisper. “I know I haven’t been here long, but if _I_ figured it out, so will she. Rey’s stubborn. She won’t let it go, you must know that. If you insist on continuing this, either hide it better or tell her. Or even better, get out _now.”_

A shiver travels down her spine. 

“Stay out of it,” Armie hisses. There’s a menacing, threatening edge to his voice. “If you’re worried about her finding out, I suggest distracting her. I’m sure it won’t be difficult.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Ben murmurs, “Do what you want. It’s your choice. I’m only telling you what I know, and what I know is that Rey is not only stubborn, but determined, and she cares about you enough to be worried. Is he really worth this?”

Someone—Armie, she assumes—snorts. “Of course he is.”

“But does he actually care about you?” Ben presses. 

“Of course he does!”

“Does he? Funny. As far as I can tell—”

“Say one more word—”

“Threaten me at your own risk, Hux. You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve made disappear.”

At that, Rey’s eyes widen. She has to put a hand over her mouth, forcing herself to not interrupt whatever sort of quiet fight they’ve got going on.

“Disappear?” Hux laughs humorlessly. “Yes, I’m sure you’d have an interesting time explaining that to Senator Palpatine.”

For a moment she thinks that’s the end of it, but then Ben replies with something that gives her goosebumps. He says it in a hush, like he isn’t sure it’s something he should admit.

“Why do you think he hired me?”

“He would never. I don’t believe that.”

“Then you’re blind,” Ben says bluntly. “You _both_ are if you don’t see it.”

“Get out,” Armie snaps at him. “Get. _Out._ Right now.”

“Why do you think I’ve kept such a close eye on you?” Ben prods, seeming to ignore Armie.

Part of her thinks she should interrupt, break up whatever’s happening, but an overwhelming part of her thinks it’s in her best interest to not admit to hearing any of this. 

Ben continues, “It’s not too late to get out while you still can. Think about Rey. You care about her, don’t you? Don’t you think she wants you safe? Don’t you think she’d be worried if she knew?”

“Don’t you dare,” Armie hisses. “Stop bringing her into this.”

“Too _fucking_ late. She already suspects something, and it’s not because of me, it’s because you can’t be bothered to be fucking careful. If you care for her at all you’ll figure a way out of this, because she isn’t going to stop asking questions. I don’t think I need to tell you how bad that could be.”

Armie doesn’t have a fast reply, and when he does finally speak, he’s gone quiet. “Just—just keep her safe.”

“I will,” Ben mutters. “I will, but you have to know what you’ve gotten involved in.”

“Of course I do,” Armie fires back, but all the heat’s gone out of his voice.

Ben huffs out, “I hope it’s worth it, because the deeper you get… you could be putting her in just as much danger as you’re putting yourself in.” His voice takes on a low, scary edge. “I know you care about her, but I find out you’ve caused her direct harm or intentionally put her in danger, I won’t think twice, and I won’t give you a chance to do it again.”

“Such devotion,” Armie says dryly. “But is it to the job, or to her?” 

“Either way, you’ll end up staring down the end of my blaster, and I don’t hesitate.”

The two of them go quiet again. The opening for interrupting them has long past, probably right around the death threats, or maybe even earlier, so Rey just stands in her doorway. Her mind spins while she tries not to make a sound.

Armie finally murmurs, “Understood.”

She hears footsteps, and her heart nearly thuds out of her chest as she ducks back into her room. To her relief, the next sound is the quiet beeping of the turbolift keypad, and the turbolift doors opening. They close with a whoosh of air, and whoever’s left in the living room lets out an audible sigh.

The urge to go into the apartment is overwhelming. She waits a moment, then takes a deep breath, trying not to let her current confusion show on her face as she walks out into the room. She tugs on her sweater, walking toward the kitchen as though nothing odd has happened.

Her feet and heart stop short when Ben calls out, “Rey? Is that you?”

She swallows, tugs her mouth up into a smile, and turns toward the voice. “Good morning,” she replies, trying to keep the nervous shake out of her voice.

_You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve made disappear._

“Do you want caf?” she asks, trying not to flinch as she sees the harsh darkness in his eyes. “I’m making caf, maybe breakfast, too. I could make you something, too,” she babbles. “Not that I’m good at cooking, though you’ve probably noticed that, but I could try—”

Ben puts a hand up, silencing her nervous chattering. He studies her with a tired, gaunt look. 

“How much of that did you hear?”

There’s a tremor in her voice when she replies, “H-how much of what?”

His expression softens, and he sits in one of the living room lounge chairs, muttering, “I knew I should have talked to him on the balcony.” He sighs. “It would be better if you forget what you heard,” he says quietly. His gaze cuts to hers. “But whatever you heard, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

“Am I in more danger if I don’t?” she whispers, gripping the back of a chair.

There’s a little sadness in his voice. “Not from me. Do you believe that?” When she hesitates, Ben prods, “What does your gut tell you? If you don’t let yourself get overwhelmed with questions and you just listen to your first instinct, can you trust me?”

Her eyes trace over him, and he asks again, softly, “Do you trust that I wouldn’t hurt you?”

Hesitantly, she nods.

The relief on his face is hard to miss.

Still, she frowns at how easily the answer came out after what she heard. She slumps into a chair across from Ben and says, “I have a lot of questions. I think that’s reasonable. Obviously something’s going on, and I don’t like being kept in the dark. I might trust you not to hurt me, but I don’t trust you to tell me the truth. I will find out, whether you tell me or not.”

He stares at her for a moment, working his mouth. “I suppose I can’t convince you to stay out of it.”

“What do you think?” Rey asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “You really think I’m going to overhear a conversation like that and assume everything is fine?” Her jaw goes rigid as she recalls more of it, and mutters, “Don’t threaten him. You have no idea what he’s been through, and—”

“And you have no idea what he’s going through, right now,” Ben interrupts. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I wasn’t keeping you far, far away from it.”

Rey huffs haughtily. “Well that’s not going to happen. He’s like a brother to me. You understand that, don’t you? If he’s in danger, even if it’s his own fault, I’m going to find out why.”

Ben nods, just once, in confirmation. He rests his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his hands, and groans into them. Then he drops his hands, giving her a tired look. “Okay. Okay, I’ll tell you, but this needs to stay between us. No telling Hux you know, and you certainly can’t mention any of this to your grandfather. Not our current conversation, and not the one you overheard.”

There’s a strange chill that runs over her skin, but Rey doesn’t react. She only nods.

“Not a word,” she confirms.

Ben hesitates, and… 

As he talks, she’s sure every single word that leaves his mouth is a lie.

“I found out where Hux has been going. He’s been seeing someone,” Ben explains. “At first I assumed he hadn’t told you because it was a new relationship, and maybe it wasn’t anything serious. But I looked into the guy he’s been seeing.” Ben pauses, and sighs dramatically. “It turns out, the man deals death sticks.”

His expression is somber, and in the worst way, it feels like living with her grandfather has trained her for this—for acting as though she believes what is clearly a lie.

Because Armie’s dated all kinds, many of whom were not the sort her grandfather would approve of, and while he may never have brought them home, he always told her about them. If he’s keeping something from her, it’s not something so insignificant.

Ben purses his lips. “I talked with him about it because I believe it could put you both in danger.”

“Of course,” she nods numbly. “I can see why you’d be worried.” Trying to keep the doubt from her voice, she asks, “So… when you were telling him he still has time to get out…”

“Of the relationship,” Ben clarifies.

Rey glances over at him, and finds him staring closely at her, as though he’s waiting to see if she believes his answer.

“Right.” She nods again and gives him what is hopefully a grateful, but worried smile. “Thank you. I appreciate you telling me the truth, and I appreciate that my safety is such a concern.” Her words are laced with a sweet sort of poison, and she adds softly, “It’s so nice to have someone I can trust.”

There’s a wince that flickers across his face. His voice is dull, resigned, when he replies, “Your safety is my priority.”

He excuses himself without a word, leaving the living room. He doesn’t even look her way.

 _Listen to her instincts,_ he’d told her.

The problem is, her instinct are telling her two things, and the more she thinks about them, the more her stomach turns.

One. Ben lied.

Two. Ben believed he had a good reason to lie.

Somehow, that second part worries her more.

\--*--

Rey is utterly distracted as she dresses for the gala her grandfather wants her to attend. At first she assumed it was his typical campaign fundraiser, but oddly it’s more of a peacemaking event. Every senator—centrists, populists, and everyone in between—received an invite, and the moment she heard that, her interest spiked. It’s not often that she gets to see her grandfather in the same room as Senator Organa, and each time it occurs, it makes for better entertainment than most HoloTv.

She’s had hours to relax, but her mind is still all over the place, torn between wondering which of Ben’s words she can trust, and worrying about what Armie is _actually_ up to. The problem is, if what Ben told her is a lie meant to keep her safe, then the truth might be something much worse.

There’s a lump, like an unnaturally heavy rock, sitting in her stomach, making it impossible to admire the dress that’s been delivered for her. 

The dress is one her grandfather would approve of, which is likely why her usual personal shopper sent it over. It’s not what she’d choose to wear, but it’s fitted and pure white, the collar raising high on her neck. It’s chaste. Maybe annoyingly so.

She’s frowning at her reflection and pulling her hair back into buns just as someone knocks on her door.

“Come in,” she mutters, sticking a pin in her mouth while she works on the bun.

After this morning, she’s guessing Armie won’t be back to the apartment until after the gala, so it’s not at all surprising when the door opens to allow Ben entry. He sticks his head in, asking, “Are you ready yet? Your grandfather was very specific about—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Rey waves off. 

Her words come out garbled thanks to the hair pin. In the mirror, she can see Ben walk in and sit the edge of her bed behind her, a hulking figure in head-to-toe black, including a cape. 

His mouth quirks. “Interesting hairstyle.”

She takes the pin from her mouth, shoving it into a spot near the lowest bun, and gives him a little shrug. “Grandfather prefers it.” Rolling her eyes, she explains, “It was the hairstyle I wore as a little kid. It reminds people of my past.”

Ben’s frown deepens. “Your grandfather wants them to think of you as… a helpless child he rescued?” He stands, shaking his head. “No, no, I don’t think I can let you go along with that.”

“What?” Rey looks back over her shoulder in disbelief. “What’s that supposed to mean? You can’t let me? I think I make my own decisions, thank you.”

He snorts, gesturing for her to turn back to the mirror. “Sure you do. That’s why you’re still wearing the buns you wore when you were nine? Because you like feeling as though you’re a child?” 

When her mouth falls open in silent protest, he leans in behind her, meeting her eyes in the mirror as his words are murmured right into her ear. “Do you want people to think of you as a child? Or would you prefer they see you the way you are?”

Rey swallows, holding his gaze. “You may have a point.”

“Let me try braiding it. If you like it, keep it in. If you don’t, go back to the buns, or do whatever you want. If we’re late because of it, I’ll take the blame.”

“Sure,” she says hesitantly. She watches, eyes narrowing as Ben pulls out each pin with gentle ease, slowly loosening one bun at a time. The lowest falls while she asks, “You know this requires an explanation, right? I’ve never had a bodyguard, but I can’t imagine this is a common perk.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up, just as he tugs the second bun loose. His fingers brush through her hair, shaking it out and stroking it briefly before moving onto the last bun. 

“How much do you know about Alderaan?”

“Not as much as I should, I suppose? Why?”

Ben’s sort-of smile turns a little mischievous. “Do me a favor and don’t tell your grandfather about this. I’d guess he’s more informed than you.”

He stops for a moment once the buns are out, and Rey keeps her eyes on him as he stares down at her, running his fingers through her loose hair to brush it out. His throat bobs. “Do you have any preferences, or can I braid whatever I’d like?”

“Whatever you want,” she shrugs. “I’m sure it’ll be less boring than what I’m used to.”

Ben hums, and gets to work. Her mind wanders while she watches his fingers weave her hair this way and that. Stress flows out of her as a braid starts to take shape in the form of a style similar to what she’s seen on Senator Organa. The senator’s is usually a little more elaborate—a crown with smaller additional braids woven in, but what Ben’s putting in hers is simpler. 

It’s only a single braid wrapped around her head, with a few stray wisps that frame her face, but it’s infinitely better than her usual buns. 

He slides pins in, fixing things here and there with practiced hands.

“You’re… strangely good at that,” Rey comments, raising an eyebrow at him.

His eyes find her in the mirror as he slides another pin in near the top of her head. “It’s an Alderaanian tradition. Of sorts. What do you think?” he asks, stepping back. “Want to keep it in, or are you going back to the buns?”

Rey shakes her head. “No buns. This is good. Hopefully grandfather won’t make a fuss about it.”

At that, Ben winces. “If anyone asks, I had nothing to do with this. You found a picture of it and did it yourself, okay?”

“Any particular reason why I’d need to lie?”

“Not one I’m offering,” he snorts. “Now, I won’t need to worry about you running off or causing trouble tonight, will I? I can’t say I slept well the other night. I’d prefer to limit the amount of nights spent on your floor.”

“Sleeping in my room was your choice, and so was sleeping on the floor. Don’t blame me for that.” She glances at him, trying not to blush as she murmurs, “You had other choices.” 

Curiously, a flush spreads over his cheeks. He clears his throat, saying nothing but, “I didn’t have other options. Had I slept anywhere but directly in front of your door, I believe you would have waited until I was asleep, and then left. Am I wrong?”

At his knowing expression, she mutters a reluctant, “I suppose not. Fine, fine. I’ll behave. I don’t think I could bear being manhandled and carried out of a gala like I’m a child. Don’t fool yourself into thinking I’ve forgotten about that.”

“I’m glad you haven’t,” he grins. It’s a subtle thing, but it’s there. “We should leave. The airspeeder should be waiting.”

She nods, and tries really hard not to stare at that rarity in her mirror. 

\--*--

Trips to the Senate Building have never been something to look forward to. Normally they mean she needs to sit in on a horribly dull meeting, or they mean she has to smile and nod and say pre-written and rehearsed lines about how her “wonderful” grandfather rescued her from a terrible fate.

Now, she’s so stir crazy that even a visit to the Senate Building—gala or not—has her nearly vibrating with excitement. 

The bar has never been lower, but Rey brushes off the negative thought and, for the dozenth time since leaving the apartment, promises herself she’ll have fun. How could she not? She has the entire evening to socialize, terrorize her bodyguard, and—the best part—she has a chance to try to figure out why he’s lying to her.

She has goals for the evening. Of course, if her grandfather wants her there it means he has his own goals, but so many people have been invited that Rey feels confident that she’ll be able to avoid him most of the night.

Her own personal goals involve, but are not limited to: learning what Armie is up to, learning if anyone’s heard more information about the protesting in the Outer Rim (she hasn’t heard news about it in weeks), and learning if anyone knows what may have happened to Sula’s missing supply shipments. It’s a lot to do in a single evening.

From the moment they leave the apartment, Ben refuses to leave her side. As he steps out of the airspeeder, Rey holds back, wondering if he’ll continue on without her.

No luck. He stops, too, quirking a brow at her in an unspoken question.

“Just enjoying the fresh air,” she blurts.

Ben offers nothing but a shrug, and gestures to the building where the gala is being hosted. People are still arriving, dressed as though they’re attending the opera, in gowns and suits and flowing robes that cost more money than most Coruscanti will ever make in a lifetime of hard labor. 

A chilly breeze whips around them, billowing the dramatic black cape that’s hanging from his shoulders. Ben holds a gloved hand out to her, and she takes it without a thought, leaving the airspeeder and letting him walk with her to the building. It’s just as well—there’s a way to accomplish all three of her goals for the evening, even without ditching Ben.

Casually, she asks, “You don’t happen to know if Poe Dameron was invited to this, do you?”

Ben’s steps stutter, and he looks over at her with the same sort of face someone makes when they’ve swallowed something sour. “Poe? _Dameron?_ Why?”

“Haven’t chatted with him in a while,” she answers, not wanting to admit her motives. “Just thought this might be a good opportunity to catch up.”

Something icy washes over his expression. “How nice. Unfortunately, I’m afraid that’s impossible. He’s a security risk.” Ben tsks. “Dameron works for your grandfather’s competition, so he’s not on the approved list. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Judging by his tone, he’s not at all sorry.

As they step inside, following the small crowd of wealthy senate members and influential locals, Rey narrows her eyes and points out, “You are the competition’s son. By your logic, you should be a security risk, too, right?” She pauses, arguing, “That logic doesn’t make sense. Isn’t that suggesting that you and my grandfather believe someone from Organa’s campaign wants to do me harm? That’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous or not, I don’t make the rules.”

Rey bites back a harsh reply as they enter the giant makeshift-ballroom. It’s an inconvenience, but that just means she’ll need to figure out a way to find Dameron in the crowd of the gala—assuming he’s even there—and she’ll need to temporarily ditch Ben in the process. She’s pulled off more difficult plans.

The Senate Building is filled with senatorial offices, but it has a few spaces fit for events thrown by the senators. Most are only used for holiday celebrations, but once in a while there are events like this one—a “good-faith” sort of gala, thrown by one candidate in honor of themselves and their competition. It’s meant to encourage positivity during a campaign, and Rey’s surprised her grandfather is the one who arranged it. Such an event means he’ll spend the evening politely socializing with Senator Organa and her staff, which is… unusual, for him.

The space they’re in tonight is more commonly used as an indoor garden in which many senators have their lunches or host small informal meetings. Rather than a single wide-open room, it’s a labyrinth of marble pathways split by large fountains and landscaped bushes and trees or patches of flower gardens, all leading to what’s probably being used as a dance floor.

It’s _perfect_ for her plan. Lots of turns, lots of little places to hide.

Rey takes her hand from Ben’s arm, rearranging the skirts of her dress as an excuse, and pouts. “It’s a shame about Dameron,” she sighs. “It’s been too long since I’ve gotten to chat with him, but I understand. Would you mind if I get a plate?” she asks, gesturing to one of the many buffet tables she can spot from where they’re standing. “I skipped lunch.”

He takes a step, as though he plans to follow right along with her, but she stops him with a hand. “Fine, I lied,” Rey groans. “I’m not getting food. I spotted Armie.” She nods subtly to a fountain surrounded with little packs of socializing guests, and lies, “I want to go check in with him after this morning. I won’t tell him I heard anything, I promise, but I want to make sure he’s okay.” Her eyes widen up at Ben, and she adds in a hush, “I’m worried about him.”

Ben blinks down at her. He glances away, toward where she nodded, and Rey holds her breath, waiting for him to notice that Armie isn’t in the crowd.

Instead, he clears his throat. “Sure. That’s fine. Would you like me to get you a plate in the meantime?”

“You wouldn’t mind?” Rey asks with genuine surprise.

“It’s just this once,” he mutters. “But don’t get used to it. I’m your bodyguard, not your caretaker.”

He pauses, and the corner of his mouth quirks up. In direct opposition with the harshness of his words, he lifts a tentative hand toward the braid at her crown. A lock must have come loose—he tucks it behind her ear carefully, and then takes a step back, his mouth flattening into a line.

Part of her wants to take a minute and analyze that, ask more about why he’s being so nice, but she doesn’t have time.

“Thanks,” she murmurs.

Ben doesn’t reply, so she gives him a quick smile and turns on her heels, rushing as subtly as possible in the direction of where she claimed Armie was waiting.   
  
She has _maybe_ ten minutes. Ten minutes before Ben realizes she isn’t where she said she’d be, or before he comes across Armie himself and figures out she lied. One way or another, she doesn’t have time to worry, so she rushes as much as she can without drawing attention, giving the guests who try to greet her a smile while she lies, explaining that she’s looking for her grandfather. She ducks through the crowd, weaving around people in hopes that Ben won’t spot her once he starts looking. 

Rey comes to a screeching halt at the edge of the dance floor—her grandfather’s standing almost right in the middle, chatting away with Lady Carise Sindian, the woman who thought to create the First Senator position. Luckily, they don’t spot her, but she _does_ spot Senator Organa.

It’s a risky move, chatting with the opposition. Especially while her grandfather’s in the same room.

Still, she needs answers.

Taking a deep breath, Rey straightens her posture and walks across the room, heading toward Senator Organa. She looks just as she did this morning on the HoloTV. Simple robes, simple make-up. The most elaborate thing about her is the braid wrapped around her head.

Rey’s step stutters when Senator Organa stops mid-conversation, her eyes landing on Rey and widening. 

“Excuse me,” she tells the older man she’s speaking to—Bail Organa, the former Alderaanian senator, if Rey’s not mistaken. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

To Rey’s absolute shock, Senator Organa closes the distance between them quickly.

“Good evening, Senator Organa. I was hoping—”

“Not here,” the woman hushes her, looking almost… stricken. “In private. Join me on one of the balconies?”

Rey frowns, but doesn’t argue. She’d only intended to ask the woman where Poe might be, but curiosity gets the best of her. She nods, and lets Leia calmly guide her away from the dance floor. They continue past another buffet table, ignoring the curious expressions from dozens of guests until Senator Organa finally gestures to an exit.

The night air is nearly freezing as Rey follows her out onto an empty balcony. The music and voices from the gala dull when Senator Organa shuts the glass-paned doors behind them.

Her heart pounds while she waits for the woman to explain.

“Miss Palpatine,” she greets. Her voice has an undercurrent of confusion, and her eyes meet Rey’s in a pointed gaze. “I assume you and my son have grown quite close, then?”

“I was hoping—” Rey stops mid-sentence when her brain catches up and processes the woman’s question. In a confused daze, she asks, “I’m sorry Senator Organa, but why are you asking me about Ben? Did you not know he was working as my bodyguard?”

“At this point, I’d say you can call me Leia,” she snorts. At Rey’s undoubtedly baffled expression, Leia repeats, “You and my son have grown close, no?”

For a long moment, Rey doesn’t speak. She’s mostly trying to figure out what’s going on, and when she can’t, she settles on a cautious, “He… spoke to you about me?”

Leia looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “No, he didn’t. Let’s just call it a wild guess. If you’re not here to talk with me about Ben, what did you need?”

“Right. Okay. I’m sorry to bother you, Senator, but I was hoping to find Poe Dameron. I have some questions about—”

“If this is related to the campaign, better I don’t know,” Leia interrupts, waving her off. Her frown deepens, and she stares at Rey so intensely, Rey starts to understand why people are so intimidated by her. “If you stay here, I’ll send Poe out to meet you. Just answer me a question or two first. My son. Is he safe?”

Of all the things Leia could ask, that wasn’t what Rey had expected. Usually a favor from a politician, even if it’s something as small as sending one of their campaign workers out onto a balcony, comes at a high price.

“I— yes? I think so.” Rey shrugs a little. “I know I’m not fully informed on certain things, but we’re almost always restricted to my apartment.”

Leia nods, and then asks a second surprising question.

“And did he braid your hair?”

The longer Rey waits to reply, the bigger the smile on Leia’s face. Before she gets an answer out, Leia says, “Goodnight, Rey. I’ll send Poe out to meet you—stay here. Give it five or ten minutes, I’m sure I’ll have to find him and interrupt whatever conversation he’s gotten into.”

“That’s fine,” Rey says, a little dumbly. Her head is still kind of foggy. Either that, or almost none of this conversation has made sense. “Thanks, Senator Organa.”

The senator gives her the oddest look. “Really? At this point, just call me Leia.”

The woman lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, as though she thinks Rey’s acting crazy, and then she turns and walks back through the doors, back into the gala.

Seven minutes later, Rey still hasn’t pieced together the odd conversation. All she’s done is paced the balcony a few dozen times and gotten goosebumps. The doors open without warning, startling her as a red-cheeked, wide-smiling Poe Dameron steps out onto the balcony. How he’s not shivering in his button up, Rey isn’t sure.

“Gotta’ say, when my boss said a Palpatine wanted to chat, I was hoping it wasn’t your grandpa,” the man laughs, leaning back against the shut doors. His smile is oddly contagious, and despite the fact that he’s often a thorn in her grandfather’s side, Rey can’t help but grin. “Being told a Palpatine wants to see you in private is scary as _shit,”_ he teases. “So what’s this all about? I’ve been told to report back to my boss, so be careful what you say, kid.”

Rey quirks a brow, folding her arms over her chest as she leans back against the balcony’s half-wall. “You realize if you meant to get any useful information, telling me you’ll report back to the Senator was a bad way to go about it.”

“Yeah, sure,” he nods. “But that’s assuming I think you have useful information. Which I don’t. So what’s going on? C’mon, it’s freezing out here.”

She tries not to take offense to what he’s said, mostly because he’s annoyingly right, and explains, “I need information and you always seem to know things, whether or not you’re supposed to.”

Poe’s eyes narrow. “You’re not asking me for things that’ll help your grandpa’s campaign, right?”

“Of course not,” she snorts. She pauses, considering how to ask carefully, and settles on, “There are things going on, and nobody’s telling me anything. Nobody’s telling me about the protesting in the Outer Rim, nobody’s doing anything about the supply shipments that have gone missing. I thought it was just one shipment, but my contact—a woman who runs a shelter here—recently told me it’s happened again. And then there’s what’s going on in my own kriffing apartment, which is just—”

“Are you in danger?” Poe interrupts. She glances up, seeing concern all over his face. “I know Solo’s there. He’s an ass, but you’re safe with him.” 

It’s like a switch gets flipped, and suddenly he’s in interrogation mode, just like she’s seen when he accuses her grandfather of things.

Lowly, he asks, “What’s going on at your apartment? Is it the Senator? That asshole he’s got working for him?”

“Would you let me talk?” she snaps, maybe a little too intensely, but she’s pretty sure Armie is the so-called asshole he’s talking of. She decides against asking if Poe knows what Armie’s up to. Drawing attention to potentially questionable activities while her grandfather’s trying to get elected wouldn’t be her best move. Finally, she sighs, “I’m fine. I just need answers. I’m offering to pay you.”

For a moment, he seems taken aback. Maybe even offended.

Then he huffs. “Nothing campaign related.”

“No, obviously not. I only want information on two things. I want to know what’s going on in the Outer Rim, or really whatever news you can get me. Unfortunately I’m not kept very well informed,” she mutters. “And I want to know what the Coruscant Security Force knows about the shipments of goods, stolen from Sula Tanau’s soup kitchen. Can you do that?”

Poe gives her an odd look. “Yeah, okay,” he replies hesitantly. “How can I get in contact with you? I don’t think anyone’s gonna let me up to your apartment.”

Shit. _Shit._ She hadn’t considered that. Biting at the inside of her mouth, Rey offers up the only suggestion she can think of. “Meet me at Monument Plaza in three days. I’ll have your money then and you can tell me what you’ve heard.” 

“Kriff, you’re not paying me, I thought that was a joke,” he laughs. “Do you know how bad that would look? I work for Leia. I don’t feel like explaining why Palpatine’s grandkid is paying me for information. No,” he shakes his head. “You know what you can do? Bring that nerf-herder bodyguard of yours, and—” 

The previously dulled sounds of the gala return to a roar, and her eyes cut to the now-opened balcony doors, framing a _clearly_ pissed off Ben.

“Oh. Hey, Solo,” Poe greets, sounding jovial. “I was just talking about you.”

Ben’s resting frown turns into more of a sneer. He takes a step toward them, pulling his cape from the way of the door before he slams it shut behind him.

“Dameron,” he mutters. “I’m afraid you’re not on the approved list of contacts for Miss Palpatine. May I ask why you’re bothering her?”

Poe tilts his head, seeming confused, but at Rey’s urgent and hopefully subtle head-shake, he seems to understand their meeting was intended to be a covert one. He grins at Ben, and—to her horror—laughs, explaining, “Ah, don’t worry, I let her down gently. The kid’s cute, but not my type. Questionable family and all that.”

Maybe she’ll murder him. Briefly, she wonders if a drop from the balcony would do it, and judging by the look on Ben’s face, maybe she’d even have help.

“You can address her as _Miss Palpatine,”_ Ben grinds out. He takes a step closer, towering over Poe, and says in a low voice, “Why don’t you find someone inside to socialize with? Staying on this balcony is inadvisable.”

Poe nods, and then his too-friendly mischievous smile gets directed at her as he steps backward toward the door. “Nice to chat with you, though, Rey,” he grins. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again soon.”

With a wink—one that’s not nearly as subtle as she expected given their deal—he turns and leaves, shutting the doors behind him quickly.

It leaves her alone with Ben, who looks like he wants to strangle something.

He tightens his hands into fists, then lets them uncurl, and he walks to the edge of the balcony, resting his forearms on railing. He glowers out at Galactic City. The temperature is nearly cut in half with the frigid chill that rolls off him.

Finally, he says, “Your grandfather wouldn’t approve of you being friendly with the enemy.”

She joins him at the balcony’s edge, looking out over the city as she tries to convince herself to suck it up and accept the ridiculous cover Poe came up with. It’s somehow better than telling Ben she’s looking for information because she isn’t sure she can trust him.

“Being friendly?” Rey asks dryly. “Is that what it’s called?”

She looks over at him, ready to accept whatever scolding he plans to dish out. She waits a minute, but no scolding comes. Ben refuses to meet her eyes, only looking out at the city spread in front of him.

“Ben, what’s—” 

His voice interrupts smoothly, so quiet she almost misses it. “Dameron’s a fool.”

Rey stops. Stops talking, stops trying to lie. Her brow furrows, and what she ends up blurting out could result in such a potentially mortifying rejection, her cheeks flush preemptively.

“Are you saying that because you think it, or because you’re jealous?”

The shock of that potential reality fights the shock she feels at the look Ben gives her. It’s soft, and the tops of his cheeks are pink, and _oh,_ that explains a lot, actually. But just as quickly as she blurted the question, Ben schools his expression back into his usual stoic facade. 

“I genuinely believe he’s a fool,” Ben murmurs.

She inches closer, fiddling with her hands over the balcony as she replies, “I’m not sure that answers my question.”

Glancing over, Rey catches him staring. His eyes wander to her mouth, and then cut back up to her gaze with an intensity that’s slowly becoming easier to figure out.

She’s about to ask if he cares more than he claims, about to tell him she’d still seek out his company even if he wasn’t her only choice, about to tell him that him being jealous of Poe Dameron is laughably ridiculous. She’s about to lean in. About to wonder if his mouth is as soft as it looks, about to wonder if kissing someone is as sweet as some holoshows make it seem.

From the gala on the other side of the doors (the event Rey’s forgotten all about), something loud, raw, and terrifying interrupts all of her plans.

Blaster shots and panicked screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)  
>  [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just preface this chapter with a polite reminder to review the tags.

It’s hard to know what a life-threatening situation is like until you’ve been in one. Some holoThrillers depict it as time slowing down or warping, speeding and slowing as perception goes screwy. Some people think it’s like a shock to your system, like getting slapped with an uncontrollable, horrible reality that a brain simply can’t process. Some people think it’s like a computer being hit with a power failure, like a person just freezes and shuts down.

And maybe it _was_ like that the first time, but by now, Rey’s life has been threatened so many times, either by natural elements or _not_ so natural elements, that it’s not like that at all.

Time doesn’t slow after they hear the blaster shots and the subsequent and resulting screams and terrified shouts. It doesn’t speed up, either. Time goes precisely at the rate of her own heartbeat, which is to say that it beats, it _pounds_ steadily on, pushing her through time at an exact tempo whether she likes it or not. Maybe this would be easier if time warped. If it stalled. Maybe she’d have more time to think, more time to breathe. It might even be easier if time rushed forward, speeding her through this until she’s home and safe and _done_ with whatever nightmare awaits on the other side of the balcony doors.

But time pounds on at the exact rate it should, reminding her of just how little control she has over this event. This outcome.

She and Ben go still, their gazes slowly moving to focus in on the glass of the balcony door and whatever’s happening beyond it. There’s a long stretch of time only filled with shouting, followed quickly by a second round of rapid-fire blaster shots and _more_ screaming and clattering of tables being knocked over and glass being broken while people panic. 

At the sound of a muffled voice shouting, “Nobody move!”, Ben _moves._ It’s in the blink of an eye, so fast it takes her breath away until her back is pressed to the smooth stone wall behind her, to the side of the balcony doors. She’s wedged between the wall and a very alert Ben, just out of sight of the windows.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers, his voice so soft the wind makes it almost impossible to hear him. “They might not know we’re out here.”

For a moment, Rey manages to convince herself this is a dream. A _good_ dream, one where there’s no real danger past the doors. One where the only thing that’s in danger is her heart, because it beats faster not due to the imaginary threat, but thanks to the man pressed against her, holding her and looking down at her like he would protect her with all of himself.

It’s not a dream, though. Not a good one, not a bad one, not a dream at all, and her heart is only pounding because the danger is a mortal one, and very, very real. Ben isn’t looking at her—his expression is wholly unreadable, and he’s got his eyes narrowed, focusing on something or someone through the panes of the door.

“They’re looking for something. Or… someone,” he breathes. His eyes flick back to her. “Have you done anything I should know about? Pissed the wrong person off? Asked the wrong person some questions?”

Rey shakes her head quickly. “Poe agreed to help get me info on something, but that was ten minutes ago, it couldn’t have anything to do with this.”

He looks mollified, but his mouth settles into a grimace at the sound of another blaster shot. “We shouldn’t stay here. All they’d need to do is start checking the balconies and we’d have nowhere to hide.” He rolls his jaw, then bends closer. She can feel the warmth of his breath when he whispers into her ear, “How well do you know this building? We need a better place to hide, or a way to leave.”

Rey shivers and tries to wrack her mind for the various exits. She hasn’t spent much time in the giant indoor-garden, and what time she _has_ spent there hasn’t been filled with analyzing the ways in and out of it. Usually she only walks through it on the way to—

“The offices,” she blurts in a quiet hush, “If we can get to one of the hallways, to the left of the where they had the band set up, we can get into the senator’s offices. Most of them have attached private airspeeder landings. We could get out that way.”

Ben’s eyes dart to the door, and he nods sharply. “Good. That’s good. When I open the door—in a minute—we’re going to run and hide—” he points through the window, and Rey turns her head to see one of the large toppled buffet tables still draped with a blood red cloth, “—behind that table. If we go from one spot to another, and we’re careful, they might not notice us.”

Her stomach turns just at the idea of leaving the false security of the balcony. Delaying the inevitable, Rey leans in, letting herself rest against him. “I wonder what’s going on.”

The hand at her waist tightens—briefly, but it’s still comforting. 

“I’d like to know, too,” he mutters. “But we don’t have time. It’s going to be okay. Do you trust me?”

Rey pulls back and nods, pushing down the anxious voice in her mind that’s reminding her of him lying and withholding information. She looks up at him, just as his hand slides down to take hers. His hand is warm, and she grips it like the lifeline it is.

His voice drops to a low whisper. “Okay. It looks like all the guests that didn’t get out are… they’re on the floor. If we stay low and hide at that first spot, we can figure out our next move there. Come on.”

And that’s it. That’s all the time, all the warning he gives before he gently opens the door and pulls her through it. 

\--*--

Blood has a distinct smell. It’s metallic and sweet and sickening in a way that makes anyone with a sense of self-preservation want to run until their legs can’t continue. At least, that’s what Rey’s mind urges her to do, even if she can’t spot the source of the smell.

In the seconds it takes them to get to the spot Ben pointed out, her heart goes from its calm and even tempo to something high-paced and frantic. Catching her breath, she peeks out from behind the deep red cloth draped over the toppled table, and spots three figures, all human-shaped, all in black masks and cloaks, all carrying blasters.

One of them speaks, and their voice comes out modulated through the mask. “Fifteen minutes until CSF shows up,” he reports through a communications device on his cloaked wrist. “We’re awaiting your orders, sir.”

Rey doesn’t hear more of what’s said, but Ben grabs her arm, tugging her back behind the table. She turns to snap at him, only stopping at the stricken look on his face. His eyes are wide, and with a single finger to his lips, he nods at something around the other side of the table, toward where guests were dancing not twenty minutes earlier. Frowning, she scoots closer to him, looking over his shoulder. She has to clap a hand over her mouth to prevent her own scream. Ben wraps an arm around her, pulling her against him in a solid embrace, so her face is pressed into his shoulder, so any sounds she makes will be muffled… and so she won’t keep looking at it.

A dozen bodies, maybe more, strewn over the makeshift dance floor. Blood, pooling and drying on the marble.

For a moment, she has the clarity to be thankful she didn’t have a chance to eat, because her empty stomach lurches. Her next reaction is to lean back, take in a shaky breath, and whisper evenly, “Give me a blaster. Right now.”

Ben’s paled face turns confused. Slowly, he looks down at her like she’s just announced her grand plan to grow wings, jump off a balcony, and fly home rather than find a more normal way out. 

“I— no. I can’t,” he whispers back. “I only brought one, I assumed security would take it at the door.”

“Bullshit, give me a blaster,” Rey argues back. “There’s no way you only brought one.”

He huffs, glowering at her. His mouth curls into a deep frown. “Do you even know how to use one?”

“Point and shoot, I can handle it,” she hisses.

“If you’ve never used one, someone could get hurt.”

Rey blinks at him, gesturing at the dance floor as if to say _that’s the point!_

He seems to pick up on what she’s trying to say, and he pales even further at the reminder of the bodies. “Rey, I can’t.”

“Give me a _kriffing_ blaster,” she whisper-shouts. She grabs the front of his cloak, curling her fist in the heavy material, then pulls him close and says lowly, “Earlier you said I’m not a child, and now you seem intent on treating me as one. I am _allowing_ you to protect me, but there isn’t a single chance that I won’t also protect myself. So back the _fuck_ down and give me a blaster.”

His jaw goes rigid, but before he can reply, alarms of some sort start blaring, stabbing at her ears and only adding to her sudden nausea. His mouth flattens, the way it does when he knows she’s right and he’s pissed about it. He tugs away from her, brushing her hand away from the front of his tunic, and with one hand, he reaches under his cape, unclipping another weapon from his back.

It’s a brief victory, a tiny thing to grip onto that might save her life… but then he shoves it into her hands, and she sees exactly what it is. 

A shiny silver blade the length of her forearm, terminating in a hard leather grip.

“A _knife?”_ she hisses. “Have you not heard that phrase, bringing a knife to a blaster-fight?”

“It’s the only other weapon I have on me, now _shut up_ before they hear you.”

Her instinct is to snap back until she takes in a breath, filling her nose with that chill-inducing smell. She bites her mouth closed, and nods.

Softly, Ben whispers, “Stay low. Get to the hallway and duck into the first office that’s open. Go ahead of me so I can cover you. Stay low, stay quiet, and don’t look back.”

Rey gives him a nod, her heart leaping into her throat as the severity of the situation sinks in more and more with each passing second—with each passing heartbeat. She watches him closely, trying to focus only on him and not on everything around them. The scared part of her is willing to let him take lead, but for a long while, he only stares at her, concern filling his expression. 

“Be careful,” he finally murmurs. He hesitates, as if debating something, but then his gaze flicks away, toward where the three masked people were when they hid. “Go. Now. Stay low.”

It’s like her heart stops. 

Ben squeezes her hand, whispering imploringly, “Rey, _go.”_

Somehow that’s the moment it hits her—she could die.

There have been a lot of moments like this in her life. Moments on Jakku when she reached day three of no water and thought that was it. Moments when someone stole her day’s scavenged haul at blaster-point.

But she was always alone, in those moments.

While Ben scans her expression, probably incorrectly assuming she’s too afraid to move, all she can think is that she’s _not alone._ Even if she dies tonight, it won’t be in a desert, and it won’t be alone. 

He looks so worried, so concerned for someone who claims to care about his job simply because he’s paid to do it.

Ben squeezes her hand again, leaning closer. “You need to go _now,”_ he urges, those warm brown eyes full of something that’s more than fear for a client. “Rey, please. I’ll cover you.”

Her hand isn’t even shaking when she lifts it, cupping his face. His eyes narrow, like he’s confused, but by the time he seems to figure it out, she’s already leaned in almost the rest of the way. In the little bit of clarity she has left, she figures she may as well go for it if she might die tonight.

Rey presses her mouth to his, and Ben reacts so quickly, she wonders if he’s been right on the edge of doing this himself. What was intended as something brief becomes _more_ when he slides his arm around her, tugging her into his arms, into his lap. The kiss is messy and rushed, but his mouth is warm and soft, insistent as it works over hers. His tongue traces the seam of her lips, then quickly slides into her mouth like they have no time to waste, deepening the kiss in a way they’re both desperate for. 

Feeling fearless, Rey lets her hands wander, one weaving through his soft waves while she grips at his chest with the other. His hand curls around the back of her neck to keep her close, his fingertips dig into her skin, holding her tight like he doesn’t want to let her go, and—

And _this_ is what causes time to slow. It isn’t the threat of death, it isn’t the fear. It’s whatever _this_ is, because time seems to warp around them, giving them every moment they need to indulge in what could be both a first and a last.

It still ends too quickly.

Ben pulls away, looking utterly stunned. He seems to struggle to pull his gaze from hers, but with a soft, regretful noise from the back of his throat, he looks away at something past her shoulder.

“You… you need to go, they’ve got their backs turned,” he breathes. He looks back to her, wide-eyed. “Go. Please. I’ll be right behind you.”

Pulling away, out of his lap, out of the safety of his arms, feels like an impossible thing. She wants time to stay frozen, wants to stay where she is, but Ben’s expression fills with desperate, silent begging. 

It’s not the look a bodyguard gives their client.

She gives herself mere seconds to memorize that look, then squeezes his hand one more time, gulps in a silent breath, pulls out of his arms, and _runs._

\--*--

The hallway she miraculously makes it to (after a brief, panic-inducing stop behind a giant marble column at the half-way point) plunges her into darkness. It’s almost a relief. The darkness feels like a cloak of invisibility wrapped around her shoulders. The only sound is her own breathing, and her quiet footsteps along the carpet as she goes from office door to office door, trying to open each one.

Locked, locked, locked, five or six or twenty—she loses count as she checks them, and her heart pounds a little harder with each one that won’t open. There are thirty-something senatorial offices down this dead-end hallway, and if none of them are unlocked…

Rey gulps in stale air, then holds it in as she squeezes her eyes shut and tries another door.

It slides open, and relief floods her chest.

She rushes inside, but doesn’t close the door behind her—Ben should be right behind her. Her back presses to the office wall, and she catches her breath, trying to return to slow, measured breathing. She keeps her eyes shut and grips the knife in her hand, letting it ground her.

“Drop it,” a modulated voice orders.

Her eyes fly open.

Not for the first time tonight, her heart leaps into her throat.

Somehow it seems exactly like her luck, to pick a hiding spot containing one of the people she’s hiding from. 

The figure, cloaked in both a mask _and_ the darkness of the room, moves from behind the desk of whichever senator uses this office. In the dim light from the floor-to-ceiling windows of one wall, Rey can see the mess covering the desk. Her sense of self-preservation is apparently nowhere to be found, because the first thing she does is demand, “Why are you here? What are you looking for?”

The only answer she gets is a firm, “Drop the knife.”

Rey clutches it to her chest. “ _No.”_

The reality of her foolishness only sinks in when her eyes land on an object she hadn’t seen, but should have known would be there—a blaster, sitting on the senator’s desk, within arm’s reach of its owner. Deciding she needs to get between the two, she takes a cautious step, and decides to gamble. In a hushed, even voice, she says, “My grandfather has a fortune. Senator Palpatine. He’s the wealthiest person on the planet. Pretend you didn’t see me, let my companion and I go, and I swear we can pay you whatever you want.”

No answer comes. They seem to be considering her offer, but it’s hard to tell through the mask. Rey takes a tentative step toward the desk, putting her hands up as if in surrender… minus the knife one hand is still curled around.

“You could have enough credits to go wherever you want,” she offers, trying to sound genuine. She widens her eyes a little, softens her voice, and tries to sound like the sweet, timid senator’s granddaughter that the media has tried to portray her as. “Please,” she whispers, taking another step. “I only want to go home.”

“Drop the knife, and I’ll think about it,” the modulated voice sounds. 

They take a step back, closer to the desk, and Rey forces herself not to react. She keeps talking. Keeps advancing. “I mean it, I only want to get out of here alive. I’m not even twenty yet, there are so many things I still haven’t done. I don’t care what happened here, I just want to leave, I promise.”

Miraculously, the innocent, scared act seems to work, so she keeps going. She’s almost far enough across the office that she might be able to reach the blaster, if she dove for it.

“If you’re looking for something, I could help,” she suggests. “I can help, and I’ll pretend I never saw you. There’s no reason for you to hurt me.”

The reminder of their goal snaps them out of it.

“Stay where you are!” the person orders, taking a quick step back behind the desk. “Drop your weapon, and _stay_ put! You’re Palpatine’s grandkid?”

“I am,” she nods, keeping her hands up. She sees them inch closer to the blaster, so she blurts out, “So if you hurt me, you’ll be wanted on half the planets in the galaxy. _Or,_ you could let me go and leave with more credits than you could ever want.”

There’s a moment—a decision. They both seem to recognize it, both seem to know what’s really happening here, both seem to notice they’re within arm’s reach of the blaster that will bring an abrupt halt to this little game if one of them grabs for it.

It’s possible they’ll take her up on her offer. It’s possible they won’t. But if Rey learned anything on Jakku, it’s that waiting around to see if someone will do the right thing never works in your favor.

She lunges, dropping the knife and grabbing the cool steel of the blaster. A sharp, sudden pain lances through her as something cracks against the side of her forehead, and Rey squeezes her eyes shut at the pain. As if on autopilot, she clutches her newfound weapon, aims at the figure that’s jumped at her, and pulls the trigger.

Everything that happens next is an odd series of attacks on each of her senses.

The feeling of a thick warm liquid, trickling down the side of her face.

The sound of something heavy hitting the office floor with a sickening thud.

The taste of something metallic, from biting down on the inside of her cheek.

The smell of stomach-turning burnt meat.

Slowly, she cracks open her eyes. Her hands are shaking as they hold the blaster. At the sight of the masked figure on the ground, she shudders, almost dropping her new weapon. Her head throbs like a second heartbeat, and she presses her hand to the source of the sharp pain, wincing at the sticky warmth she finds there. 

Somehow, the realization that Ben isn’t there—isn’t behind her, like he said he would be—makes everything exponentially worse.

Waiting around for him to show up isn’t an option she even bothers considering.

\--*--

Pain seeps away as she stalks back down the hallway. Any pain or throbbing from her seemingly shallow wound is slowly being replaced by determination and livid, boiling rage. It feels like she’s about to explode, and as she walks back out into where the gala turned into a living nightmare, Rey grips the blaster in her hand, feeling high on adrenaline.

There’s a pounding in her ears, a desperate, clawing need to see the scarlet of blood that belongs to someone who isn’t _her._

The only thing that makes her hesitate is the sight of Ben, facing in her direction. His blaster is on the floor, surrendered, and his hands are up. Another cloaked figure is between the two of them, their back to Rey. Ben’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, when he sees her quietly step closer and closer.

She sees red when she realizes the figure is holding Ben at blaster-point.

“Where are they keeping the plans?” the person demands, their voice coming out harsh and biting through the modulator. “You’re Organa’s son, aren’t you? You must know where they are.”

Ben answers calmly, pointedly not looking at her as she surveys the room. Two of the masked intruders are on the floor, presumably dead. Probably thanks to Ben, she realizes numbly. As far as she can tell, it’s just this one left. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “If I did, I’d tell you. I’m not involved in my mother’s politics. I have nothing to do with her senatorial work, nor with her campaign.”

The person replies, almost sounding flippant. “Aren’t you the Prince of Alderaan? You expect us to believe you’re unaware of your government’s involvement?”

“Involvement in _what?”_ Ben presses. 

_“I_ have the upper hand, here. _I’ll_ be asking the questions,” they snap, and the moment they point the blaster higher on him, Rey reacts.

“You aren’t the only one with a clean shot,” she bites out, struggling to find a reason to not simply _shoot._ A voice in her mind—one that sounds logical—urges her not to, suggests this person may have information on whatever happened tonight. “Turn around. Drop the weapon. I’ve got a blaster, and I already used it on whoever was ransacking one of the senator’s offices. I won’t hesitate to use it on you, too, if you don’t _drop it.”_

The cloaked figure freezes. They put their hands up and turn toward her slowly, but the very second they turn away from Ben, he crouches down, grabs his own blaster, and fires.

She doesn’t even flinch when the body drops. It feels like she should flinch, or be bothered or upset somehow, but in the oddest way, it’s like the part that would react has sunk down inside her. Where there should be shock and horror, Rey feels nothing as she stares down at the crumpled mess between her and Ben.

When she finally looks up at him, Ben’s staring at her, working his jaw. His eyes are cold. He shoves his own blaster back into whatever holster he has under his cloak, then walks toward her, grabbing her arm as he storms off toward the offices. 

Neither of them speak a word until Ben pulls her through the doorway into the office she found. He lets go of her, slides the door shut behind him, presses a few buttons, and she hears the gears turning, locking them inside. She stares at his back blankly, and still doesn’t flinch. Not even when he says, in a low voice, the edge of it laced with an unspoken threat, “You _foolish_ brat. I should— I— I don’t even know what to think, right now.”

All she can do is stare.

“What if another one of them had shown up?” he demands, turning around with a wild fury aimed directly at her. “What would you have done? I told you to _run_ and I told you not to come back, what were you—”

Ben stops and reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. We can have this conversation later.” His mouth turns into a grimace as he looks at her more closely. You’re bleeding,” he sighs, taking a step closer. “What happened?”

“That one,” she says, gesturing toward the still-masked person on the floor. “They were here when I got here, looking for something. They hit me when I stole their blaster.”

He steps closer, taking her face in his hands as he studies her temple. “I don’t think it’s deep, but head wounds can bleed a lot. I’ll patch you up at home.”

His hands cupping her face might be the only thing she can feel. Everything else is cold. Numb. Every sound but his voice seems muffled, like she’s underwater.

“Did you really kill someone?” he murmurs. “Oh, Rey.”

His tone isn’t judging, isn’t horrified. He sounds more sad than anything.

The longer he holds her, the more things come to the surface. Anxiety, fear, rage, terror.

“Let’s get you home,” he finally says. He takes a moment, looking around, and lets out a long breath. “Wait…” he gestures to something on the wall, but Rey doesn’t bother looking. “I think this is Mon Mothma’s office. I wonder why they were in here.” He pauses, then shakes his head. “We need to get home and make sure your family made it out. I didn’t see them back there, but we should check in with them and make sure.”

Rey doesn’t argue. She doesn’t do anything, really, and she goes limp against Ben’s chest when he scoops her up, carrying her out of the office and through the glass door to Mon Mothma’s private airspeeder. 

Her eyes close, and the numbness sinks in deeper.

\--*--

Shuffling off the turbolift and into the safety of her apartment feels surreal. It’s oddly familiar—like when she was young and fresh off Jakku, being shown to her new home. It’s hard to believe that just a day or two ago, she’d have done anything to leave. Now it feels like a haven.

“I need to check in with everyone,” Ben sighs, breaking the silence in the room. “Need to make sure everyone else made it out. I’ll send messages to my mother and your grandfather—is there anyone else you want me to contact?”

“Armie?” she asks blankly. There should be concern there, her mind registers. She should be worried.

But she’s not… _anything._

He doesn’t reply for a minute, but then nods. “Sure.” His gaze falls to her hands, to the blood she can feel drying on them. “I have a first aid kit with bacta patches in my fresher,” he murmurs. “If you start getting cleaned up, I’ll send out these messages, get the first aid kit, and I’ll be there to help patch you up.”

“It’s fine,” she shrugs, her voice coming out monotone and tired. “I don’t need help.”

“Rey,” he grinds out. “I know it’s shallow and it’s stopped bleeding, but I’m not asking.”

She’s too… _something_ to argue, so she just turns to walk toward the bedrooms.

Before she gets much further, Ben calls out, “Wait, something’s been bothering me. Don’t they normally check for weapons at events like tonight? I’ve been wracking my mind, trying to remember if I saw security guards checking people for weapons, but—”

“They usually have security at every door,” she interrupts, frowning. Glancing back at him, she shakes her head. “I didn’t see security guards there tonight, either.”

Ben doesn’t look surprised, only deeply concerned. “That’s what I thought,” he nods. “Go, get cleaned up. I’ll be in soon with the bacta.”

Normally she’d prod for more info, ask why he wanted to know details that seemingly have little importance now, but she’s too blank. To emotionally exhausted. Her body feels like a live-wire, but her mind feels like it’s shut off, so she trudges into her bedroom, stripping her bloodstained formerly-white dress until it’s pooling on the floor. She stares unblinking at her bedroom wall while she tugs the pins and braid out of her hair, not even wincing when she yanks out two pins that have crossed and gotten stuck.

The brief flash of pain barely registers.

Rey expects to cry in the shower. Tears should come. By any logical thought, she should be a mess. It’s there, that feeling of utter despair and fear, but it’s under the surface. Under the blood that’s staining her hands.

She gets under the water, turning it up until it’s scalding, and she _scrubs._ Scrubs and scrubs, with water, soap, a cloth, _anything,_ until the blood and grime is swirling around the drain and her skin is red and raw.

The tears don’t come. They’re _there,_ but they don’t well in her eyes.

The numbness sinks in even further, turning her almost robotic, turning things a little gray.

“Rey? Are you okay? Your grandfather’s safe—he said Hux is, too. So are my mother and her team.”

The interruption pierces through the empty silence, and she listens to Ben dropping something—the first aid kit, probably—onto her counter. She swallows, answering in a rough voice, “Good. And, I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” he repeats with a huff. “No. Frankly, I’m not. What were you thinking, coming back for me? I had it handled and you put yourself in danger.”

She tilts her head back under the stream of water, almost relishing the spark of pain as it rolls down over her fresh wound. It’s not a good feeling, but at least it’s something.

“I was trying to help," she argues. “It didn’t _look_ like you had it handled, and I didn’t know you’d be so offended by my help.”

On the other side of her shower curtain, Ben lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not _offended._ That’s not the issue. The issue is, I can handle myself, but when you put yourself in danger like that, it makes the situation more complicated. You put us _both_ in danger, coming back like that.”

For some reason, being chastised for it helps. It helps things feel real, helps loosen the knot in her chest.

She prods further, letting the water pour down her, soaking her through. “What, you need an apology? I should apologize for saving your life? Really?”

“You’re acting like risking your life was no big deal,” he says icily. “It’s like you’re trying to pretend this whole _night_ was no big deal.”

But she’s not, not really. It’s a huge deal, a _massive,_ unfathomable deal, but it feels like she can’t process it. Not all at once, not right now, not like this.

So she sinks into the familiar comfort of something she knows.

“Am I really going to need to apologize?” she asks dryly, leaning into the sort-of flirty, antagonistic thing they’ve developed. She rinses her hair a little more, then shuts off the water as she waits for an answer. Without giving it much thought, she pushes aside the shower curtain, glancing at him with a tired expression. “If I do, will you stop complaining?”

“No apology could—”

His word come to an abrupt halt when he looks over and sees she’s opened the shower curtain. It wasn’t an intentional move, but she watches as his lips part, as he takes in a breath. 

In a stunned hush, he asks, “What are you doing?”

She tilts her head, but doesn’t reply. The chill in the room causes her skin to tighten, tiny little goosebumps raising over her arms as drops of water roll down her body. His eyes drop to her chest in a way that couldn’t possibly be less subtle. He swallows. 

“You... you're so... ” 

When he looks away, his cheeks have gone red, and without looking at her again, he says softly, “You’re a brat, you know that? First you kiss me, like _that_ , and now this?” His eyes flick back to hers, pointedly not dropping. “You make my job impossible sometimes. Is this how you normally apologize to someone?”

Rey shakes her head, but doesn’t have it in her to blush.

“Hm. Just me, then?” he breathes, taking a step closer. “Interesting. It does make me wonder, though, if you know the words ‘I’m sorry’. You might want to consider them, next time.”

This wasn’t exactly what she intended, but all Rey knows is that she can’t be alone, not right now. She can’t be alone when all of this sinks in, when it all hits her, because it _will_ sink in at some point, and it won’t be good.

So she leans into this part of herself that can temporarily ignore the nightmare they just went through. 

“Doesn’t this seem more interesting than a proper apology?” she asks, biting at the inside of her cheek. “I thought you’d prefer it.”

Ben’s brow furrows. “I think the interesting part would be in getting you to give me an actual apology rather than a distraction. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? A distraction? A... very good distraction.” Then, in a breath, “Just out of curiosity, what would this apology of yours include?”

“I thought you called it a distraction.” 

“Rey,” he says, like a warning. The dim light of the fresher makes the look in his eyes almost seem dangerous.

“Whatever you want,” she whispers.

His throat bobs. “Quite the apology.”

Rey gives what she hopes is a nonchalant shrug. “It could be.” 

He clears his throat, and says, as if reminding himself, “You’re hurt.” He gestures to her temple. “I need to put bacta on that. You should… I—I’ll get you a towel.”

She frowns at the way he walks away from her, like he’s suddenly trying to keep his distance, but she still steps out of the shower, takes the fluffy black towel he holds out to her, and leans back against the fresher counter when he gestures for her to do so. With a careful focus, he narrows his eyes and dabs at the side of her head with a warm, damp cloth.

“It’s stopped bleeding,” he confirms. “Have you been dizzy at all? Nauseous? Any headache?”

Rey folds her arms over her chest, over the towel. “No. The nausea was there before I went into the office, it’s not because of this. I’m fine now. It hurts, I guess,” she shrugs. “But no more than it would if it was on my shoulder or leg or anywhere else.”

“Good,” he nods. He inspects it closely, and she can feel his breath feathering out over the side of her face as he smooths a small bacta patch over the spot. “It’s shallow, like I thought. Bacta should be enough, but just in case, we should have a med droid take a better look at it tomorrow. I’m sure the Security Force will have questions for us, too.” He pauses, then meets her gaze and says gently, “Sleep, Rey. Tomorrow might be a long day.”

“You don’t want to stay with me?”

The way she says it can’t possibly leave anything open to interpretation.

A corner of his mouth tilts up, just for a moment. His cheeks redden. “I’m a man with eyes,” he mutters. “Of course I do, but—"

Before he can make another excuse, Rey reaches up to grasp the front of his tunic, pulling him the rest of the way into a hard kiss.

“Be with me, then,” she mumbles against his mouth. 

After a moment, Ben kisses back, gingerly wrapping his arms around her waist, sliding them up her back. His nose presses into the side of her cheek. He slows her frantic pace, taking his time as he kisses her thoroughly, and _yes,_ this is perfect. She can get lost in this. Utterly, completely lost.

It’s exactly what she needs—something that will make her forget what happened, forget that she’s a murderer now. Something that will make her forget about the blood on her hands.

When his lips leave her mouth and travel along her jaw, she whispers, _begs,_ “Help me forget.”

Ben goes still. “That’s what this is,” he says softly. “ _You’re_ the one looking for a distraction.” He pulls back, his expression hardening. “You want to forget how easy it was to kill when your life was on the line? Well, maybe I want to forget how _fucking_ terrifying it was to see you standing there, bleeding and holding a kriffing blaster with no regard for your own life. You have _no_ idea, Rey, I thought—”

“Stop talking and take me to bed,” she interrupts. “Or I’ll find someone who will.”

There’s a flash of something dark in his eyes. “No.”

“No, what? No, you won’t?”

“No, you won’t find someone else,” he clarifies. His mouth is flattened into an angry line, his jaw rigid like he’s grinding his teeth.

The realization should probably be an obvious one. “You’re still mad at me.”

“Furious. I would have thought that was clear.” He bites into the words, his fingertips digging into her side at he clutches her. “If you really want this, I’m going to do exactly what I want, and right now, what I want is to not hear another word, especially if it involves the suggestion that you’d let someone else fuck you.” 

Rey can’t help the way her eyes widen at his words and at the way he presses her into the counter.

“Oh, what a shock,” he huffs. “No, as it turns out, I _don’t_ appreciate the thought of you with someone else.” 

Part of her wants to apologize, maybe tell him she was only prodding him to get a reaction, maybe even own up to doing all of this because him being annoyed with her feels _normal_ and right now she just wants to feel normal, or feel _something,_ _anything._ She just wants to think of something other than the weight of a blaster in her hands and the ease of ending a life and scarlet blood pooling on white marble.

“Be with me, then.”

She should say all of those things. She should tell him the truth, should tell him how gray and numb and distant and foreign everything feels.

Instead, she reaches up, and loosens the front of her towel, letting it slide down her.

Ben hesitates, but then slowly lets go of his firm grip on her so the towel falls the rest of the way. His hand returns to her side, the calloused skin of his thumb caressing the skin just below her bare breast. It’s gentle, more so than she would have expected.

His other hand cups her face, and he looks at her like he’s debating it. With a long exhale, he presses his forehead to hers. His voice is quiet, firm, and exactly what she needs.

“Whatever you need, Rey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)
> 
> [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I'm logged off twitter for the weekend, so if you try to chat with me there, I promise I'm not ignoring you!
> 
> *Mind the tags*

Every touch is a reminder. A reminder she’s still alive, a reminder that she can feel. A reminder she’s not alone.

Rey’s overwhelming feeling—or, more accurately, her lack thereof—is like drowning, being pulled under further and further inside herself, to a dark place where she doesn’t need to remember, doesn’t need to feel, doesn’t need to process. Before it grows worse, she tightens her arms around him, trying to hold on to whatever she can. 

When Ben drops her onto her bed this time, he follows her down, propping himself over her with sturdy arms. He keeps his mouth latched onto hers in something burning and bruising. His clothes are spread along the floor in a path stretching from her fresher, and Rey runs her hands over his bare skin, clutching to him like he’s the light at the end of a hopelessly dark tunnel. 

Every bit of him is contrastingly soft and hard. Soft skin firm under her fingertips, plush lips that demand her full attention with every kiss, harsh words coupled with a tender gaze. But every time she closes her eyes, she still sees the contrast of blood red on stark white. 

She just holds him tighter.

If she’s already drowning, and if she has to drown, she’ll drown in something safe, in something she’s chosen. 

She’ll drown in _Ben._

His mouth moves feverishly, working down her throat and over her breasts, like he assumes she’ll tell him to stop and he’s trying to get whatever bit of her he can first. It’s almost funny, the idea that she might stop him. Everything is so numb, so very _off,_ she’d let him have anything, _do_ anything, just so he’ll stay.

He paints his intentions across her skin and down her body in paths of kisses that aren’t necessary for what he’s agreed to.

Rey reaches down to where he’s working his way down her stomach, and she tangles her fingers through his hair, staring down at him. The city light that streams through the windows casts a blueish glow over his pale skin, making his eyes look even darker when his gaze flicks up to hers. They both pause for a moment, as if they’ve reached some final point in time where they can stop and pretend none of this happened.

But then Ben opens his mouth and says something she can’t pretend she didn’t hear.

“Open your legs for me.”

The darkness of the room hides her blush. Rey props herself on her elbows, swallowing as he kisses lower on her belly, moving down to her thighs. 

“Rey,” he says lowly, kissing her name into her skin. The rest of his command goes unspoken.

What he’s asking for is obvious, even more so as he kisses around her thighs. While the idea is a hell of a distraction, it’s not a calming one. Her heart pounds.

“You don’t need to do that,” she blurts. “Really. We don’t need to. That’s sort of… a lot. Can’t we skip to—”

“I told you I would do what I wanted,” he interrupts. “So open your legs and let me taste you, or I’ll spend the night in my room and you can distract yourself on your own. Either option is fine. It’s your choice.”

It’s a choice, in the most technical sense, but really, it’s not. Not as far as Rey’s concerned. The thought of being alone tonight is a terrifying one. It’s something she’s not willing to face. 

As his thumb caresses over her thigh while he waits for an answer, she considers telling him that. She probably _should._

Instead, she slowly spreads her legs, letting him settle between them. Her cheeks burn at the way he looks at her, his face right _there._ He breathes her in, and her breath stutters at the briefest kiss against her labia.

“Have— have you thought about this?”

It’s probably silly that she can’t bring herself to watch. She stares up at the cloth ceiling of her bed, waiting for him to reply.

“I told you I wanted you to be quiet,” he scolds gently. “Not another word, not after what you said about _finding someone else_.” His nose nudges at her, and he licks up the length of her. It’s warm and wet and slow, and her heart skips a beat. “But yes,” he answers, his breath feathering out across her sensitive skin. “I’ve thought about kissing you, licking you here, sucking until you beg for more.” He licks her again, along one of her lower lips, and mumbles against her skin, “I’ve thought about pushing my fingers and tongue into you, and drinking you down.”

Rey swallows as he lifts one of her thighs over his shoulder and spreads her with one hand, licking into her and then up, swirling the tip of his tongue around her.

It’s not at all like when she touches herself. It’s unpredictable and gentle, the way his tongue slides over and around her. Having his face—his _mouth_ —where only her hand has been, is such an utterly personal thing. She’s spread out before him, more vulnerable than she’s ever been, and somehow that scares her almost as much as being alone.

Warmth rises in her body like a low-grade fever as he sucks her into his mouth, rolling her clit between his lips. He works so slowly, like he’s not trying to get her anywhere, like it’s for his own pleasure and not hers.

Rey sinks into the warmth when he leaves open-mouthed kisses over her. She weaves her fingers through his waves, whispering, “Please. That— _yes._ ”

She’s not even sure what she’s asking for. 

He smiles against her flesh and pulls away far enough to huff a laugh. His voice is thick as he drolls, “The _one_ time you’re polite is when my mouth’s between your legs? I’ll keep that in mind for the future. But what did I say about being quiet?”

“Mm, don’t recall,” she sighs. Her limbs turn pliant as she relaxes.

“Really? That’s the answer you’re sticking with?”

He leans in to flick his tongue over her, making her hum, “I… don’t remember.”

Rey yelps at a sharp _thwack_ noise coupled with a brief stinging sensation high on her thigh. She tenses, bending her knees closer to her chest, and sits up in a rush, bracing herself on her palms. For a moment, she gapes down at him.

“Did— did you _spank_ me?” she asks, her tone full of disbelief. “Seriously?”

His eyebrow quirks. He squeezes her thighs, pulling her legs back to him, and mutters, “Next time I’ll flip you over, and it’ll be your ass, and it’ll be more than one. Trust me, I’ve thought about _that_ , too.” He reaches up, flattening a palm against her stomach, and gently pushes her back down. “Don’t forget I’m still angry with you. Stop being a brat and let me do my job.”

He goes back to swirling his tongue around her, and Rey can’t help but blurt, “Isn’t this an apology? And didn’t you say this isn’t in your job description?”

Ben pauses with his mouth still on her. When he pulls away, there’s an audible sigh.

“Rey?”

“Hm?”

“If this makes you nervous, I can go. Otherwise, stop stalling. Relax and behave. I won’t say it again.” 

He waits a moment, maybe to see if she’ll send him back to his room, but he seems to accept her silence as an answer and eases a long, thick finger into her. 

Quietly, he adds, “The only sounds I want to hear out of your mouth are involuntary ones.”

Rey debates replying, but she gets lost in the way it feels to have something working in and out of her, curling and rubbing inside her. Her head drops back onto the mattress underneath her. Her breathing comes more quickly; her legs fall more to the sides. He massages and licks at her with practiced ease, and the way she squirms under his ministrations is so involuntary that she barely realizes she’s rolling her hips, working herself against his face.

The warmth rises, spreading a flush across her chest, and her hips stutter as he works her closer and closer, burying his face in her. Little mini-waves crest and spread from her center, building to something better. Everything gets more intense as his tongue flattens against her, licking up the length of her over and over again at a steady, unyielding pace.

A quiver goes through her thighs.

There’s a soft panting sound interspersed with little gasps, and it takes her _ages_ to realize the sounds are coming from her own mouth. The heat rises up her neck, and she squeezes her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the gentle but _intense_ throbbing that radiates from where Ben’s working at her, driving her forward at break-neck speed.

“Ah—please, _Ben—”_ she whines, her words coming out in a babbling jumble. “That— _oh._ ”

The babbling turns into a long, breathy moan as he pushes her over the edge, making her shake in his hands. Ben groans against her, pushing his tongue into her in place of his finger, and drinks her down while she shudders.

Time stretches out in waves and pulses as he keeps going. He slows, but flicks his tongue over her again and again, making her hips jerk.

She pants, pulling back a little, and Ben leaves one more shudder-inducing kiss to her clit before he sits up, back on his feet. When Rey cracks her eyes open, she sees him staring down at her. Her mouth tilts into a grin, directed at him.

“I will assume,” he laughs softly, only pausing to kiss the side of her thigh, “That those sounds were involuntary.”

Feeling a little lightheaded, she laughs, too, and closes her eyes, her head dropping back while she focuses on breathing evenly. Before she can even reply, Ben gets closer, pulling her legs around his waist. Her mind is spinning, her body throbbing so beautifully, she barely notices when his cock bumps against her, and when Ben lines himself up.

In a single smooth thrust, he buries himself in her with ease.

The sudden feeling rips a soft, surprised keening noise from her. Her mouth falls open at the burn and the stretch of him filling her all at once, and she curls forward, panting out a sharp breath. 

Ben freezes over her.

Looking down at where they’re joined, she winces at the strange fullness, and says, “Give me a minute. It’s not bad, just… different.”

He stares at her for a moment, looking utterly dumbfounded. His eyes soften, and he lowers himself down slowly, like he’s melting down over her, letting his weight settle over her in a way that’s comfortable and not suffocating.

It seems like he wants to say something, but all he does is work his lips and murmur, _“Oh.”_

His gaze drops to her mouth. He seems hesitant, but his eyes flutter closed before he kisses her. It’s tender and sweet, more like a first kiss would be. Ben kisses her and kisses her, keeping his hips pressed tight to hers. His mouth slides over hers so softly she forgets… everything. Everything but the feeling of his mouth as he kisses her, and the feeling of being impossibly full.

Ben rests his forehead against hers, nudging his nose into her cheek. “Try to relax for me. I’ll go slow.”

His mouth finds hers again, stealing another kiss, and her breath. Rey’s eyes flutter shut. She tries to let her entire body relax, letting herself sink further and further back into the mattress as he kisses along her jaw.

Ben slides out of her by a fraction. He grasps at her hip, nuzzles his face into her neck, and takes a tentative shallow thrust.

“Better?” he asks, between kisses left along her throat.

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Yeah, much.”

The room goes silent, which only makes everything else seem louder. The pounding of her own heart, the breaths they share, the sound of his skin meeting hers when he pushes back in. 

He doesn’t take his mouth off her. He sucks at a spot on her neck like he’s trying to mark her, but in the oddest way, she thinks he already has. It’s not a mark on her body—nothing so impermanent—but as he sinks into her and catches her lips in the sort of kiss that makes her ache for more, she thinks _this_ is something that will never fade. 

“Tell me you lied,” he mumbles against her mouth. He drags out of her, making her shiver just before he pushes back in, and he clarifies in a thick voice, “About finding someone else.”

“Of course I lied.”

Before he can say anything else, before he can ask any more _stupid_ questions, Rey wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him as close as she can into a demanding kiss. 

It makes little sense. Part of her knows it’s foolish and risky, and she has _no_ way of knowing if she can trust him, but it’s like he’s in her blood, pulsing through her body with each heartbeat. It feels like he’s part of her.

Her body is still throbbing, still squeezing and quivering around him, her heel digging into his back, and Ben is so close, so _impossibly_ close to her. He rolls his hips into her over and over, never pulling out all the way, as if he can’t bear to not at least be partially inside her. 

Fingers slide between them, between her legs, swirling over and rubbing at her. Her fingertips press into his skin, her teeth nip at his lips. The feeling runs over her like a buzzing current, lighting up her body the more he touches her. Her legs squeeze around his waist, but his pace is slow and unrelenting, dragging over every sensitive part of her.

Ben swallows every single moan, gasp, and cry as it hits her, washing over her with stunning ripples that spread throughout her body. He kisses a burning path down her throat while it keeps going, while her body squeezes around him, and his hips stutter. His groan comes out soft against her neck.

The room goes silent again.

Rey’s not sure what does it, but finally, while cradling Ben between her thighs, the tears come, and every feeling she shoved down claws up her throat, demanding to be released. Suddenly, she feels _everything._ All the pleasure and closeness and compassion, and every bit of the pain and terror and fear. It overwhelms her all at once, a huge gut-punch of all the things she hasn’t felt for the past couple of hours. 

She gasps for breath, drowning in it while wrapped in the safe embrace Ben offers.

Rey doesn’t even realize how hard she’s crying until Ben, perched on an arm over her, squeezes her shoulder. When she looks at him, there’s an undercurrent of panic in his expression.

“Rey? Hey, what’s going on?” he asks. “Did I do something wrong?”

A sob rips through her, tears streaming down her cheeks as the reality of the night sinks in and doesn’t disappear. It doesn’t go away, doesn’t make her numb. It leaves her _raw,_ rips her open, guts her and reminds her more with every second how easily the night could have taken a turn. A wrong step, a whisper at a higher decibel, an extra moment’s hesitation before grabbing a blaster.

Rey squeezes her eyes shut, covering her face with her hands as she cries. The sobs choke her and shake her body, even more so when Ben slides out and rolls off her. It gets worse when she thinks he’s leaving, but hands find her, tighten around her, and pull her closer. He pulls her in to straddle his lap as he sits, and he holds her tight, letting her cry into the crook of his neck.

“It’s okay,” he hushes. “You’re okay.”

“I—I could have died,” she chokes out. “We both could have, people _did.”_

A hand soothes down her bare back, and Ben hugs her close.

“I wouldn’t have let that happen to you,” he promises, nuzzling his face into her hair. “Is it just sinking in? Tonight? Is that why you’re upset right now?”

She manages a nod, and forces herself to take in a deep breath.

Ben takes her face in one hand, tilting her back so he can study her. His expression is tight with concern, his mouth curled into a worried frown. The arm around her tightens, keeping her in place against him.

“I should have realized how upset you were,” he says softly. “You need to sleep. This will all be a little easier in the morning. It won’t be so fresh.” He hesitates, and then leans forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’re safe, I promise. I know, tonight was awful, and you had to do things you never wanted to do, but it’ll be easier tomorrow. It’ll get easier every day.”

Her voice comes out shaky and so quiet it’s a miracle Ben hears her.

“Please stay.”

A hand curls under her chin, tilting her face back to his.

His words and gaze are _so_ tender. “What makes you think I wasn’t already planning to?”

More tears well in her eyes. Rey sinks into his hold, and lets him keep her afloat.

\--*--

When Rey wakes, she doesn’t wake into the same world she did the day before. While just yesterday her life was dreary and her biggest source of excitement was attending a gala where she could get questions answered, today she’s… well, she’s a lot of things. _Bored_ isn’t one of them. _Bored_ might be a nice vacation now.

She stares up at the ceiling of her canopy, her body aching and tangled up in her blankets, and she grimaces when she thinks of those words she’s repeated so many times.

_I’m better off. I am. I’m safe, I’m fed. I have a friend. I have a home. This is better._

Her laugh sounds harsh, even to her own ears. It’s almost hysteric, sort of dry, and maybe she’s lost her mind, but the very suggestion that her life is now safer than it was back on Jakku… 

_“Fuck.”_

It’s the only thing she can think to say.

She sits up in bed and feels the unwelcome throbbing at her temple, coupled with a sudden bout of dizziness, and—to her annoyed surprise—a deep ache between her thighs, as if her body wasn’t sore enough.

Rey squeezes her eyes shut, wincing. 

Awkwardly, the soreness makes her stop and glance over at the empty bed next to her. There’s a flicker of disappointment in her chest. The realization is another sharp, stabbing pain as she stares at the empty spot.

He didn’t stay.

Dangling her legs over the edge of the bed, she sighs and slides off the plush surface, stepping gingerly toward her fresher. Ben’s clothes have been gathered and removed, but her stained white dress is still in a useless clump on the floor. The dress isn’t a loss, though. It was something her grandfather would prefer her to wear, and now…

Now, Rey lives in a world where she’s not sure she cares anymore.

It’s hard to care about someone else’s clothing preferences when you’ve dressed up for them only to have said dress stained with your own blood, courtesy of a stranger you subsequently killed. It’s either that, or she’s just in a terrible, grim mood.

She shuffles into her fresher, cursing Ben for half her aching. It’s easier to be annoyed with him than it is to address why she’s so disappointed that he wasn’t in bed next to her. 

Trying to push the thought from her mind, she bends down over her sink, splashing icy water on her face. Her groan echoes through the room. For the next few minutes, she pretends it’s a normal morning. She ignores the bruising wound on her temple, brushes her teeth, sighs at her messy hair, and carefully brushes it out. Perhaps the only difference is her decision to forget her buns in favor of letting her hair hang loose over her shoulders.

Her fresher is still a mess from the night before. The black towel she used for a whole two minutes is still on the floor, and Ben’s first aid kit is still strewn out over her counter.

Briefly, she inspects it, picking up a small packet of jelly-like bacta. 

She hums at it, just as she hears her bedroom door slide open.

“Rey? You’re awake?”

At the sound of Ben’s voice, she takes a moment to convince herself not to get her hopes up. He didn’t spend the night. That _means_ something.

She turns and glances out into her bedroom in time to see Ben place a small tray of breakfast food on the end of her bed. Leaning against the door frame, she watches him turn to her and sip at a mug of caf, waiting for her to say something.

Maybe it’d be easier if he didn’t look so _good._ His hair is messy like hers, but it’s sort of endearing, and he’s changed into casual clothing—his usual plain pants and loose long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. Maybe it’d be easier without the knowledge that he’s seen and touched every bit of her.

But the way he’s looking at her is… hopeful?

That can’t be right.

Rey clears her throat. Trying to sound like her usual self, like nothing’s _different_ , she frowns at the little packet she’s still clutching and asks, “Hey, can you put bacta in a vagina? Do you think that works, or is it better for open wounds and not general soreness?"

Ben chokes into his caf, caught off-guard by her bluntness. He coughs again, setting his mug down and wiping at his mouth. A sweet shade of pink spreads over the tops of his cheeks. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he works out. “Though I suppose I haven’t tried it myself, for obvious reasons.”

She tries to smile, tries to act like she’s not disappointed, but the best she manages is: “Hm. I made you blush.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but his mouth tilts into a hint of a smile. “Did you see my note?” he asks, gesturing to her nightstand. “Sorry I left you in bed, but you were sleeping, and I wanted to make us breakfast. Yesterday was… a lot. I assumed you’d want to rest. The security force officers don’t need to interview either of us until tomorrow, so there’s no rush to do anything today.”

His words register, and there’s a brief pang of surprise in her chest.

“You stayed?”

Ben tilts his head, frowning. “Of course I stayed,” he answers, as though he never considered the alternative. He steps toward her, abandoning his caf to walk over and take her face in both of his hands. The boldness of his gesture surprises her.

In a murmur, he repeats, “I stayed. I stayed all night. I told you I would, and… and I wanted to.”

Her breath hitches at the way he looks down at her, and she asks what’s on her mind before her nerves get the best of her.

“Is this your way of saying you care about me?”

“No,” he replies, but his eyes are soft and say something different, and he hasn’t let go of her face. His thumb caresses at her cheek, and the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s holding back a grin. “This is a job.”

“Oh, is it? Then, I suppose it’s also your job to do nice things for me, like make me breakfast? Like lying for me so I can leave the apartment, like braiding my hair, or… or holding me when I cry?” She swallows, dropping the bacta packet onto the floor so she can slide her hands over Ben’s. “That’s part of your job?”

There’s the tiniest hint of a teasing smile in his voice. “It is.”

“Ah, well, since you’ve only been doing your job, does that mean kissing me good morning is one of your job-related tasks? You seem very concerned with your job performance, and it seems this task may have slipped your mind.”

The amusement is obvious in his expression. “Well, if it’s required.”

She pauses, pursing her lips. “I believe it is.”

A true smile breaks out across his mouth. He presses his grin to hers in a sweet, brief kiss that doesn’t last anywhere near as long as she wants it to. When he moves to pull away, Rey wraps her arms around his neck, keeping him close so she can kiss him again. He slides his arms around her, his smile widening against her mouth.

When she finally lets the kiss end, Ben leans back to give her a fond, but curious look. 

“How are you doing, after last night?” he asks. “Did sleeping help?”

“I’m just a little sore, don’t flatter yourself. I was mostly kidding about the bacta.”

“Rey,” he says lowly, his smile fading. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

There’s another pang in her chest at the wish that this was a normal morning. She’d give anything for this to be a morning only complicated by her having slept with her bodyguard. She wishes she could revel in the awkward newness of it, the sweetness of it, but something bigger and much darker hangs over both of them.

She blinks away a few welling tears. “Yeah, I know. I’m… not great.”

As if he expected that answer, Ben nods. He’s quiet for a moment, his throat bobbing. “And last night… the _other_ part of it? Did that help?”

He doesn’t comment on what they’re probably both thinking—the fact that it took her a half hour, maybe longer, to stop crying. He saves her the embarrassment of being reminded that she only fell asleep when her face was puffy and her eyes were red, and she was too exhausted to keep crying.

Ben does the same thing he did all night. He holds her and lets her process.

“Yeah,” she answers. “I was so numb. It was like I couldn’t feel anything, like I _knew_ I should be upset, but I couldn’t even cry.” 

He doesn’t interrupt, except to lift a hand to her hair, tucking it behind one ear while he listens.

“It was like drowning,” Rey whispers, wiping at her eyes. She sniffs, blinking back more tears, and explains, “I don’t know, it was so overwhelming, and I didn’t want to be alone.”

At that, Ben’s comforting caress along her side comes to an abrupt halt. His expression twists into something sad.

“You didn’t—” he starts, and hesitates. He studies her with serious eyes and lets out a long breath. “You know I would have stayed, right? If you’d asked? You didn’t need to give me a reason to, you didn’t—”

The way he says it is so genuine, Rey can’t help but kiss him again, cutting off whatever he was planning to say. It takes a moment, but he melts into her, wrapping around her while she kisses him. He seems to get the message, shutting up in favor of kissing her back with a level of comfort and familiarity she didn’t expect.

He’s only been kissing her since last night, and he knows exactly how to do it.

Seconds or minutes pass—she’s too busy sliding her tongue along his bottom lip to keep track of how _much_ time passes—and Ben’s the one to break away first, humming softly. The tops of his cheeks are pink again, his smile almost shy.

“Breakfast,” he sighs. “It’s getting cold.”

“So?” she shrugs, grinning at him and feeling grateful for the distraction.

Ben laughs. “You’re going to be a lot more difficult now, aren’t you?"

“Me? Be difficult? I would never.”

His eyes roll, but the smile on his face only grows as he tugs her toward the bed and the little platter of food resting at the end of it. “Please eat? I still need to go get another cup of caf so you don’t steal mine.”

“Funny, I seem to remember _you_ stealing _mine,_ once.”

“Yes, and I’m worried you’ll get revenge,” he fires back. Kissing her forehead, he orders, “Sit. Start eating. I’ll be two minutes.”

“If it takes longer, I’m drinking your caf."

Ben lets out a faux tired sigh on his way out. “I suppose it's good to know that despite the possible trauma, you’re still a brat.”

\--*--

Being left alone, even if it’s only for a few minutes, causes the numbness to creep in. It’s not the same as it was last night—she can _feel_ now, but she’s not convinced she wants to. She grabs a slice of toast off the tray Ben left and munches at it absentmindedly, taking little bites of blandness that won’t turn her anxious stomach.

She turns on the HoloTV, not really aiming for a particular channel. It doesn’t even register in her mind that she may want to avoid the news, so when it comes on and blares the horror of last night into the safety of her bedroom, Rey gapes at it. A deep sense of unease sinks into her as a reporter standing in front of the Senate Building announces the event like it’s an exciting HoloThriller they’ve been wanting to see.

“—so far, four masked criminals have been found among the victims, killed in what CSF is tentatively calling ‘self-defense’. Security footage suggests seven attackers in total, and CSF is requesting that anyone with information on this terrible event please come forward as they begin their investigate. Fourteen victims have passed as of this morning, most notably among them, Senator Mon Mothma of Chandrila, and—”

“Oh gods,” Rey blurts, dropping her toast into her lap. 

She stares blankly at the HoloTV, not hearing much else until someone shouts. 

Her attention snaps to her closed bedroom door, and she lets out a swear, leaping out of bed. On the way out, she wraps a robe around herself, ignoring all her minor aches and pains as she rushes toward the sound of two angry voices.

“Since you’re here, you can tell me what the _fuck_ you’re doing,” Ben demands. “Why were the knights there? Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous they are? Why would you _ever_ work with them?”

“The knights? _What_ knights? What are you talking about? I _knew_ Senator Palpatine made a mistake hiring you,” she hears Armie snap in a thin, wavering voice. 

As she turns the corner into the living room, she skids to a stop, her eyes going wide at the view: Armie, standing with his hands up, and Ben, a few feet from him, his eyes filled with fury, his arms outstretched and clutching a blaster.

“Ben, what the hell!” she blurts. “Put that _down.”_

He snarls, “Absolutely not. I sent him a message last night, I _warned_ him what would happen if he came back to this apartment, and—”

“Shut up and put that down!”

To her dismay and utter shock, Ben only does one of those things. Her gaze goes back and forth between the two men as she tries to figure out what could have led to such a situation. She takes a tentative step forward, and neither of them seem to notice. They’re both too locked into a shared glare. 

“Ben,” she says, trying to soften her tone into something soothing. She inches closer. “What are you trying to do, here? You’re scaring me. Armie, too.”

To her horror, he huffs a bitter laugh. “I _should_ scare him.” Ben glances sideways at her, raising an eyebrow. “What am I doing? I’m doing my _job,_ removing a murderer from your apartment, that’s what.”

She takes another step toward them, slow and even.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Armie blurts. He meets her eyes with a wide, scared expression, keeping his hands up in surrender. “I was heading into the kitchen to get something to eat and I ran into Ben, and he started accusing me, I didn’t—”

“Because I have _reason_ to accuse you. I told you what would happen,” Ben interrupts, his tone eerily calm. “I _told_ you what would happen if your job put her in danger, and I told you again last night, so don’t act so surprised, now.” He glances to her, explaining, “Rey, remember how we both almost died yesterday? You can thank Hux for that.”

Her stomach turns. “I—that’s not—no, that’s not possible,” she stammers. As she gets closer, as Ben’s grip on his weapon only seems to get firmer, anger swells in her chest. “Ben, he’s my _family,_ put the blaster down! This is ridiculous, you can’t just accuse him, do you even have any proof?”

“Proof?” Ben huffs. “Try asking him where he was last night. Ask him how his meeting with Mon Mothma went. Ask him about the Knights of Ren.”

Armie shakes his head. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. Please, I don’t understand—”

“You understand _perfectly,”_ Ben seethes. “Don’t act like you don’t.”

As the implication catches up with her, combining with the news of the senator’s death, Rey’s mouth falls open. “Are you suggesting he killed a senator?” she asks, dumbfounded. “Have you lost your mind?”

Ben groans. “Rey, I’m going to need you to not be _so_ fucking blind. It was charming at first, cute, maybe, but _open your damn eyes_ and see what’s right in front of you. _”_

The words strike her like a fist, making her flinch, and stripping away every bit of kindness, every bit of sweetness he’s shown her. With a few steps, she moves to stand between them, putting herself in front of the blaster.

In a sad, shaky whisper, she says, “Maybe you need to leave.”

Her gaze flicks to Ben’s, and she’s taken aback to see he’s already lowered the blaster, clutching it at his side. His eyes are weary.

There’s a wobble to his bottom lip as he warns, “Hux is a criminal. He’s murdered people. I’m sorry, I’d prefer to not be the person who tells you, not… not after everything. But it’s true. I should have been honest earlier, but I thought I’d have more time to figure out how to tell you.”

The worst part is that she still has the urge to trust him. It can’t be right, though. She’s known Armie too long, known him too well.

“That’s ridiculous,” she sighs, shaking her head at him. Her words come out tired, threaded with every bit of the sadness welling in her. "I promise you, you’ve got bad information. It’s not possible. I know him too well, and he doesn’t have it in him.” She swallows, the sadness only deepening when she sees the resigned look on Ben’s face. “Of Armie and I, the only person who’s killed anyone is me. So… if you want to point that blaster at someone, it shouldn’t be him.”

A breathless, “You did _what?”_ comes from behind her, but she ignores it.

“That’s different, that was self-defense,” Ben argues. He tilts his head at her, his shoulders drooping a little. “Is this what your instincts are telling you? You’re not even a _little_ suspicious of everything that’s going on? Think it through,” he urges, but he may as well be talking to a wall for how likely she is to believe it. “Hux has been meeting with Mon Mothma’s team, there was no security last night at an event your _grandfather_ hosted, neither of us saw Hux there, people showed up looking for something in Mothma’s office, and they killed her. Forget what I know, _you_ were there for all of that. Maybe from your perspective it’s all circumstantial, but you _really_ don’t have questions for him?”

Nausea bubbles up in her throat with each of his words, but she still replies, “None I’ll be asking at blaster-point, no.”

His mouth flattens. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Fine,” he sighs. “You want me to leave, I understand, but that’s not up to either of you. Senator Palpatine hired me and I’m inclined to stick around, as he requested.” He pauses, glancing from her to the man behind her, and works his mouth for a moment. “I’ll give you until tomorrow. Let things cool off.” 

Grimacing, Ben meets her eyes again, his gaze intense and full of… _something._ “Ask him, Rey. Please.” His frown deepens. "And for my own sanity, check in with a med droid. _Today._ "

He stares at her, not taking his eyes off hers while he adds in a terrifyingly casual tone, “Oh and Hux, if anything happens to her while I’m out for the day, I swear to the _gods_ I won’t ask questions before I kill you. If you or anyone else puts a hand on her, you won’t live long enough to apologize.” 

Rey shudders, stunned by how unrecognizable he seems. She takes a step back toward the man who’s fallen silent, probably from being so terrified. There’s a tremor to her words. “Get _out.”_

Ben nods, as though he expected that. He shoves the blaster into a holster at his side and gives her an indecipherable look as he steps forward and reaches out to take her face in his hands. Rey flinches at his touch, but can’t bring herself to pull away.

“Let go of her, she doesn’t want you touching her,” Armie insists. “You heard her, get _out.”_

“I think we can let Rey be the judge of when she minds me touching her,” Ben replies in a droll. “She’s good at specifying what she wants.” He holds her face firmly in both hands, and warns, “Don’t trust a word he says. Don’t let him take you anywhere. Don’t follow him anywhere. I’ll be back soon. Until then, be _safe._ ”

“I’m wondering if I’ll be safer while you’re not here, actually,” she mutters, shoving his hands away from her. She steps back, but doesn’t stop glowering at him.

Ben’s expression falls, and _oh,_ that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. He doesn’t reply right away, staying quiet for a minute while he considers her. When he speaks, it’s with a low tone, like his words are only meant for her.

“You’re even more beautiful when you’re furious. I didn’t think that was possible.” His mouth quirks in a sad smile. “I might need to make you angry more often.” He leans in, just by a fraction. “Don’t let anyone fool you into thinking your cage is safe while I’m gone, little bird.”

And there he is again, the man who stayed and held her all night.

He gives her one more look, like he wants to kiss her, but he only steps to the side, giving her and Armie a wide berth as he leaves the room.

Moments later, she hears the soft beeps of the turbolift panel. The doors whoosh open and then close again.

Tension dissipates, but her head pounds like she’s underwater.

From behind her, Armie lets out a sigh. “Wow,” he says, dropping onto a chair. “There’s a _lot_ to unpack there.” He pauses, and asks bluntly, “Since when have you been fucking your bodyguard? Don’t tell me you haven’t, I’m not an idiot. The man has a _pet name_ for you.”

Her nose scrunches. She turns to him, taken aback, and folds her arms over her chest. “Not two minutes ago, a man pointed a blaster at you and accused you of killing a politician, and your biggest concern is that I’ve had sex with him?”

Armie gives her an oddly flippant shrug. “You have, then? Hm. Well, one of those things surprises me more than the other. I’m not the least bit surprised he’s proving to be unhinged. But you, though,” he huffs. “What, was it some seduction method to get him to lengthen your leash? I didn’t know you had it in you. I’m a little proud.”

Rey nearly recoils, but limits her reaction to a hushed, “ _No._ No, it wasn’t anything like that.” 

Tension seeps back into the room as Armie processes that. His brows raise. “It… wasn’t casual? Ah. That’s unfortunate.”

“It didn’t feel casual,” she admits. She sighs, taking a seat on the couch behind her. “Though I can’t say I know where we stand _now._ I didn’t expect him to pull a blaster on you.”

Armie frowns, reaches out, and takes her hand in his. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? Send out for ice cream? Run you a bath with all the nice-smelling things you like? I could request Senator Organa send all his embarrassing teen photos here until you’re no longer entranced.”

Rey snorts. “I’m not entranced, but...” She takes her hand back and wraps her arms around herself, scrunching up her face. “But that was _weird,_ Armie. Before he ran into you, he was with me. He stayed all night, and he made me breakfast and brought it in so we could spend the morning together. It was… _genuine._ ”

“I’m so sorry, Rey,” he says with a sigh. “But at least now you know how unhinged and dangerous he is, and—”

“But he’s not,” she interrupts, finally figuring out what’s been bothering her so much. “No, that’s not true at all. He’s neither of those things, at least not to me.” She shakes her head. “None of this makes any sense.”

Her eyes flash to Armie. A deep, terrible feeling sinks into her stomach.

She barely dares to ask, but…

“Where were you last night?” she whispers. “I didn’t see you at the gala.”

Armie’s eyes widen. He huffs, as if annoyed. “Rey, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t believe I’d do what he’s claiming. You barely know this man, don’t accuse me of something terrible because you don’t want to face what sort of person he is. Do you really think I’d hurt someone?”

“No, I don’t,” Rey admits. “But I also don’t think Ben would be suspicious if he didn’t have a reason to be.”

“This is what he’s doing,” Armie stresses, bracing his forearms on his spread knees. She’s only just now noticing how strained his expression is, how gaunt he seems. “I _knew_ we couldn’t trust him. He’s getting close to you, planting seeds of doubt, though… I didn’t expect them to be so literal.”

Rey looks away, cringing as her cheeks burn. “Don’t be gross, this is serious. What reason does he have to suspect you? He said he sent you a message last night? What did it say?”

“Just a general threat, in case I saw fit to return to the apartment,” Armie huffs. “And if I knew what his reasoning was, I’d tell you.”

She’s known him most of her life, relied on him for _so_ much, and such a significant part of her wants to trust every word he says. She wants to look at Armitage and see the sibling who patched her up when she was a child who skinned her knees. She wants to look at him and see the man who would comfort her with a hug and a terribly cooked dinner and a holovid whenever her grandfather left the two of them feeling like the orphans they were and still are.

Her words come out as an uneasy whisper. “ _Would_ you, though? _Would_ you tell me the truth?”

Armie looks at her, disbelief crossing his face. “I don’t have time for this. I can’t believe you’re even entertaining his ridiculous suggestions.”

He stares at her for so long, like he’s waiting for her to burst out laughing and claim this entire morning has been a joke, but she doesn’t.

The only reaction he has for her is a ticked-off huff. “As much as I’d love to hash out the details of why your bodyguard seems to be convinced I’m a criminal, I personally think he’s lost his mind, _and_ I need to get to Senator Palpatine’s office. He’s making a statement today, concerning the events of last night.”

“Right, of course he is,” she says to herself, lost in thought. Lying to Armie, maybe for the first time, she clears her throat and says, “You know what, you may be right. Ben… he’s gotten in my head,” she sighs. “Of course you weren’t involved. He’s, uh. He’s Senator Organa’s son, I can’t imagine he has good intentions.”

Armie nods, muttering, “I think we _know_ what his intentions were.” He takes her hand again, and Rey tries to ignore the urge to grimace. “Don’t apologize. I understand, it must be upsetting to realize you can’t trust him. Especially after you spent the evening together.”

She swallows, her gaze flicking to the face of someone who’s slowly seeming more and more like he might be a stranger.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “It is. Very upsetting.”

Armie gives her a sympathetic smile. He squeezes her hand before he lets go, and stands, walking toward the door.

“Hey, Armie?” she calls out, dreading his answer. “Are you ever going to introduce me to your boyfriend? I heard Ben warn you about bringing him around, but I’d love to meet him.”

The rock sinks low in her belly as he turns and frowns. “What boyfriend? I haven’t had time to see anyone in _ages,_ never mind have a boyfriend. What are you talking about?”

They stare at each other while Rey connects a few dots. Not many, but at least a couple. It’s confirmation that Ben lied, but that’s not what worries her. What worries her is the slow-growing context to the conversation she overheard between the two of them. Ben’s words suggest something different now that she has confirmation they weren’t about a deathstick-dealing boyfriend.

_Is he really worth this?_

_You have to know what you’ve gotten involved in._

_It’s not too late to get out while you still can._

“Never mind,” she says, her voice going monotone. “I must have misunderstood.”

She almost keeps her mouth closed, almost stays silent while he narrows his eyes at her and then rolls them, but when he turns to leave, she finds she can’t hold it in anymore.

Rey jolts up from the couch, blurting, “Wait, actually, no. No, I didn’t misunderstand.”

Armie turns back to her, tilting his head.

“Ben _has_ lied to me,” she nods. “I know that and I’m not denying it.”

His mouth flattens. “Okay, what’s your point? I’m in a rush.”

“He’s lied to me,” she repeats. “But you’re lying, too. You can claim you’re not, but we both know you are. I might not understand _why_ you’re lying, but you are.”

For a long moment, they stare off. She watches his jaw tighten while the tension in the room grows worse and worse. In the worst way, her instincts scream at her, urging her to put more distance between them.

Their standoff ends when Armie shakes his head at her. “Just because someone doesn’t tell you everything doesn’t mean they’re lying or that they’re _a murderer._ Stop being a child,” he snaps. “Grow up. Some of us have to get to work.”

The cruel words stab at her, but before he gets to the turbolift, she asks, “But what work is that, exactly? You’ve never really said. Every time I ask, you give me vague answers.”

She hears the quiet beeping of the turbolift pad and the sliding of the doors, and a mutter of, “Kriff off, Rey.”

Then he’s gone, not even bothering to answer, nor say goodbye, and she’s left alone, with only questions for company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)   
>  [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)


	7. Chapter 7

Ben’s bedroom is empty. Sure, there’s furniture—a bed, neatly made and framed with shiny metal nightstands, a lone chair sitting in one corner, a desk with nothing on it but a small lamp—but it looks more like a hotel bedroom than one someone’s spent quite a few weeks sleeping in.

Her mouth tightens, her lips pressing together in frustration. It took her ten minutes to convince herself this invasion of privacy was necessary, and now it appears to have been pointless. She peeks into the closet, her frown deepening at the paltry collection of plain dark clothing. Even when she leans up on her toes to check the shelves, there’s nothing. She checks the two desk drawers, finding them both empty. She even checks under the bed.

_Nothing._

The holoTV she turned on blares her grandfather’s speech, but she only catches bits of it while she searches.

“The events of last night,” her grandfather says gravely, “Are nothing short of a travesty. While Senator Mon Mothma and I often failed to see eye-to-eye, her voice and her presence will be terribly missed in the Senate. If you’ll allow me, I would like to say a few words regarding my plans for ensuring—”

 _How_ is there nothing in Ben’s room? No books, no datapad? No pictures?

Rey sits on the edge of his bed, sighing. She stares at the wall opposite her, letting her mind spin and work through all her thoughts. It’s a struggle not to get pulled into a spiraling mess of _What happened at the gala?,_ or _Why are supply shipments going missing?…_ or any of the dozen questions she has, but for now she tries to take a deep breath and hone in on the reason she’s in this room. 

“…if there was ever a time to come together to create a stronger, unified government—one strengthened by the aid of a protective force—that time is _now._ I ask my fellow senators to review the horrors this galaxy has weathered and _vote_. Vote for the safety of our citizens.”

She winces at the speech. At the reminder of the gala. 

“One problem at a time,” she mumbles. 

It’s become rare to have the apartment to herself, and while she’s not sure what she hoped to find—an incriminating note, devious plans stuck up on a wall, a box of assorted poisons, a giant stash of blasters—she’s oddly annoyed to find there’s just… nothing. Not that she _wanted_ him to be evil, but she expected to find more than this. She groans, sliding off his bed so she can double-check under it. 

Is it too much to ask for a stray sock, or a book, or a scrap of paper? Maybe a wrapper from something? 

Apparently it is.

Her grandfather drones on. “To have a peaceful event viciously attacked by masked monsters only proves that we’ve let these horrors continue for too long. Last night’s attack, as terrible as it was, was only the latest in a long line of problems. Even on this peaceful planet, our lower levels are ripe with civil unrest due to a lack of serious security presence, and we’re seeing the same unrest on many planets. Our people are not safe. Crime is at an all-time high.”

Rey feels around under the edge of the bed for evidence that isn’t there, and tries to ignore the weight pressing at her chest, squeezing at her. The two of them haven’t been gone ten minutes, and it feels like she’ll need ten days to process the sight she came out to this morning.

“Please,” her grandfather stresses, “Encourage your senators to elect me. As your First Senator, I will keep us safe. I promise I will—”

With another groan, she clicks off the news.

While sitting there on her bed, barely an hour ago, she’d been thinking of kissing him again. She’d been planning to turn off the news when he came in with coffee… maybe pull him back into bed, see if he’d spend the day with her there and forget the entire galaxy, even just for a little while. 

Rey shoves away from the frame of his bed with an angry huff, determined to get him off her mind, and sits on his floor, pulling her knees to her chest. 

It’s hard to know whether she should be sad, angry, or mortified. Maybe she’s a little of all three.

Reluctantly, she climbs to her feet and tightens the robe tied around her waist. As frustrated as she is by Ben and his empty void of a room, she has another bedroom to check before giving up. Brushing herself off, she takes one more look around the room before leaving. Her gaze lands on the bed. Maybe if things had been different, she would have joined him in it. Maybe they would have had more mornings like this one, minus the blaster and threats. 

Or maybe last night had just been a perk for him, a slight hiccup in his plans to infiltrate her family to get information for Senator Leia.

The unexpected pain at the unwelcome thought makes her breath catch, but she pushes that thought aside. True or not, she doesn’t have time to worry.

Going into Armitage’s room is like entering the atmosphere to an entirely different planet—one where humans shouldn’t even be able to survive. Since they were children, he’s had a code to lock his door, but since they were children, Rey’s also known that code. It’s a wonder he never changed it after the first time he found her in his bath, taking advantage of all his bath products.

His floor is a mess of abandoned clothing in need of washing, and there are stacks of books spread over his desk, nightstands, and every other surface. Unlike Ben’s, this one is _lived in._ It’s someone’s home. 

Rey presses her lips together, surveying the space. Ben’s room was so empty, it was easy to pick a starting point. Armie’s room, though? It could take her _days_ to find something here.

She starts at his desk. It seems to be used as more of a bookshelf than a proper desk, and much to her not-surprise, there aren’t any books titled _All of Armitage Hux’s Secrets,_ nor _All You Need to Know About the Knights of Ren._ They’re all harmless. Some history, some fiction, all just for casual reading. She moves on, piling his abandoned clothes in the process so she’ll stop tripping on them. There’s nothing in either of his nightstands—Rey finds another crumpled up sweater and tosses it behind her into the growing pile—and with a long groan, she finds absolutely nothing shoved into his laundry hamper.

“Of course there’s nothing in the hamper,” she mutters, “It’s all on the floor, why would he bother with the hamper?”

Grimacing, Rey puts her hands on her hips and looks around the now _slightly_ cleaner room. Like with Ben’s, she’s not sure what she expected to find. Ideally, she won’t find anything. Anything relevant to her grandfather’s campaign would likely be on Armie’s datapad, which he’s probably taken with him, and Armie’s not the type to handwrite notes, so… 

So this search is probably futile.

Rey drops back onto his bed, moaning dramatically. She stares up at his ceiling, and her mouth quirks in a fond smile. 

It’s been a while since she slept in his room. When she was younger, and her memories of Jakku more fresh, her nightmares more frequent and her loneliness more intense, they’d have nights where she’d climb into his bed and he’d grumble and complain and scoot over, then read to her until she fell back to sleep. What started as _just this once_ quickly became a regular habit, until Armie finally gave up on pretending he minded, and _finally_ admitted he liked those nights, too. 

The reminder is like being stabbed in the heart, but it’s good, because it’s further confirmation that Ben just can’t be right. He can’t be. Armie is keeping something from her, but it’s an enormous leap from lying to murder.

He sounded so scared when she was standing between the two of them. So confused.

Anger flares in her belly again at the thought of _anyone_ holding a weapon to him. She may not have much in the way of family, but she has him.

Rey stares up at the ceiling, losing track of time and zoning out so completely into memories of her childhood with Armie, she must not hear someone entering the apartment. It’s only when the door slides open that she jolts, sitting up on his bed. Her eyes snap open wide.

Her first thought is that he looks exhausted. He wipes a hand down his face, sighing quietly as he enters, and it’s _far_ too late to hide.

When he notices, he comes to a quick halt. It’s hard to know what gets his attention first—her presence, or the lack of clothes on his floor—but he stops mid-step. His gaze cuts to her, and slowly, his mouth curls into a frown.

“I—I thought you left,” she stammers.

A single brow arches. “That was quite a while ago. I was with Senator Palpatine, didn’t I tell you I was only helping with his statement for the press? And, wait, your best excuse for rifling through my room was that you thought I wouldn’t catch you?”

It’s a painful minute before she comes up with a response, and when she manages one, it’s a very lame shrug, and a “I’m sorry.”

He nods. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Frankly, I almost expected it. Did you find anything interesting?”

“Obviously you know I didn’t.”

With another nod, he walks over and drops onto the bed next to her. Rey lets out a breath, resting back on one of his pillows, and for a moment she can pretend they’re younger and life is simpler. His hand finds hers, squeezing comfortingly.

“I’m sorry I called you a child,” he admits. “I’m sorry I was awful. You went through something terrible last night and I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I hope you understand I was only upset by the accusations.”

Rey gives him a shrug. “Speaking of, I’m sorry I implied you may have terrorized a gala and killed a senator.”

“Mm, that was _rather_ harsh of you, especially since you know I don’t even like violent holovids. To your credit, it _was_ difficult to get someone from Mon Mothma’s team to meet with me, though I never considered it might be simpler to just do away with the lot of them.”

They both go quiet for a bit. His head turns toward her, and she notices the way his mouth has twisted into something sad. 

She speaks first.

“I really am sorry,” she mumbles. “But you’ve been lying to me, and that scares me. Since when do we lie to each other? I just… I don’t know, when I realized you were lying to me and not telling me things, I assumed it had to be something terrible.” She sniffs, more so when he squeezes her hand again. “And part of me still isn’t sure why you wouldn’t just talk to me. We tell each other everything. Even the awful things.”

Armie doesn’t reply right away, staying quiet as he considers her, but finally his mouth tilts just a fraction of the way into a smile. “Mm, tell you things. Just like you told me about your… _bodyguard?”_

Her cheeks flush. “Shut up, it wasn’t a secret, it just happened yesterday. And it’s not a _thing,_ obviously. Not after this morning.”

His eyes narrow at her thoughtfully, the way they always do when he’s about to big-brother her. 

“But you like him. More than you admitted to earlier.”

“You make it sound like I’m a child with a crush,” she mutters.

Armie gives a brief laugh, then turns over on his side, so he’s facing her. Reluctantly, she does the same, rolling her eyes at him.

“You’re not a child, I shouldn’t have said that. Regarding Ben, I’ve noticed you haven’t denied it. You… _like_ him.”

“I’m not sure I like anyone who points a weapon at you.”

He huffs. “I suppose I agree with that.”

Rey rolls her eyes, but it’s hard to joke around, for so many reasons. She winces, admitting, “I thought I liked him. I thought I felt safe with him, and not alone, and… you know me,” she shrugs again. “That’s huge. I’m not…”

“Friendly? Social?”

“I was going to say _trusting,”_ she mutters dryly. 

Armie laughs a little. “You aren’t the other things, either.” Seconds pass, his smile slipping closer to fondness than humor. “Okay,” he sighs. “Why don’t I be as honest with you as I can be? It’s not everything, but I can alleviate some concerns.”

Rey perks up, but she stays quiet and lets him explain. 

“Yes, there are things I’m not telling you,” he admits. “Some of them are political, some of them aren’t. Let’s start with the night of the gala. I am not part of… what did Ben call them? Knights? I’m not even sure what that is, but I’m not part of it. I was _not_ there last night as I said I would be, because something else came up. I was…” he stops, his face tightening before he says, “I was meeting my father. The man’s still a horrendous bastard, but he contacted me last minute to say he was on Coruscant. He had some of my mother’s things, and I’m not sure what possessed him to be kind for the first time in his life, but he wanted to give them to me. I can show you the messages, even the items he gave me, if you want the proof. It’s not much. Just one of her books, a few pictures, and a locket.”

Her eyes go wide. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have gone with you.”

“It was something I needed to do by myself.” His frown deepens. “Besides that, I feel… guilty, I suppose, preferring the life of a sort-of orphan over my parents. Or, _parent,_ now. I feel like I’m rubbing it in your face, reminding you that I still have a parent.”

“So you’d rather let me wonder if you took part in an attack on a political gala? To be honest, I think I’d rather have heard the truth,” she snorts.

“Obviously I realize that now, why do you think I’m telling—” He stops, lets out a little groan, and says, “We’re getting off-topic. So, that’s where I was last night. Regarding Mon Mothma’s team, it would have been counterproductive of me to kill any of them considering I was attempting to lure the woman to our side with promises of future campaign donations. That’s not public knowledge because it’s _not exactly_ legal, so you can assume that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

She blinks. “You were trying to _bribe_ her?”

“I wouldn’t say that in so many words,” Armie argues. “Let’s say it was more that I had drinks with one of her more attractive staffers to see if the senator may be receptive to the idea. They immediately shut me down, and that was the end of it.”

“Kriff, no wonder you were being vague about it.”

Armie gives her a knowing nod. “Elections aren’t all pretty speeches. But my point is, Ben was wrong. Very wrong, and while I’ve done a few… _questionable_ things during this campaign, I’ve caused no one harm. I don’t appreciate his threats _nor_ his blaster, and I hardly think we can trust him, but…” He pauses. “Right or wrong, it’s impossible to deny his dedication to the job."

At Rey’s incredulous look, he gives a slight shrug. “I can dislike him _and_ like that someone’s protective of you. This planet—this entire galaxy—is dangerous. Ben seems a bit… let’s say _rabid,_ and perhaps aimed in the wrong direction, but now that he’s not waving a blaster in my face, I can admit he’s determined to keep you safe, even at the risk of infuriating you. As someone who loves you, I can appreciate that.”

There’s a feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something dull but _there._ Not quite a rock, not exactly nausea, but more like the unease a person feels when they enter a room and just _sense_ that something is off.

She takes in a slow breath, holding eye contact with the person she knows best in the galaxy.

“To be clear,” she murmurs. “In the span of a few hours, you’ve gone from believing he’s dangerous and not to be trusted, to… believing he’ll keep me safe? You’re encouraging me to… forgive him for threatening to kill you?”

At Armie’s gentle nod, that feeling in the pit of her stomach only gets worse.

“Are you _sure_ there’s nothing else going on? You can tell me, I swear.” She sits up and frowns at him. “I only ask because it sounds like you’re _really_ saying that I’m in so much danger, you want to make sure I stick around someone who’ll keep me safe. What I’m hearing you say is that, for whatever reason, you’re _so_ desperate to keep me safe that you’re okay with me having a bodyguard who’s threatened your life. I’m not trying to accuse you of anything,” she promises, “That’s just what it sounds like. Am I wrong? Am I just misunderstanding?”

She can see it—the debating that’s going on inside him. Slowly, he sits, too, his throat bobbing.

It’s almost a relief when he replies, “You’re wrong, and _yes,_ you’re misunderstanding. There’s no big conspiracy, Rey. I already told you everything. I just admitted I’ve tried to buy votes in this election—if that got out, it would be a PR nightmare. Why are you so convinced there’s more to it? The only reason we haven’t discussed it is because you aren’t working on the campaign, _and because it’s illegal._ ” He squeezes her hand, promising, “That’s the worst of it, and frankly it’s bad enough. Listen to me—you have a bodyguard for a reason, and it’s because you’re related to a man plenty of people in this galaxy hate. I’m only requesting that you stay close to Ben, especially while I’m so busy with your grandfather’s campaign. I’ll have Senator Palpatine speak with him so he knows I’m not the threat he seems to think I am, but you having a protective bodyguard isn’t a terrible thing.”

With a sigh, she lets her shoulders sag.

“Attempted bribery, then?” she sighs. “I suppose it’s better than murder. Do you promise that’s all?”

He tilts his head, giving her a hint of a sad smile. “I promise. I feel guilty enough about that, I can’t imagine living with myself if I was responsible for worse. To be honest with you, I didn’t want to do it to begin with, but…” he hesitates before admitting, “But your grandfather asked. It’s hard to deny a man who offered me shelter and family when my own father made _home_ feel dangerous. I suppose I feel indebted.”

She nods, hating that she understands the feeling. 

Armie pulls her into a hug that does nothing to quell her unease.

\--*--

Frigid winds whip around her, fluttering her gray cloak and pressing it to her body. Rey tugs the hood a little further down around her face. Without her buns, uncovered face, and more elaborate clothing, she’s difficult to recognize. Still, today seems like a poor day to take chances. 

Frustrated by her inability to reach Sula for an afternoon of donation purchasing, she wanders through Monument Plaza, briefly stopping in to purchase a sugary lunch from a bakery. She sits on a stone bench to eat a sweet cheesy pastry and lets her gaze settle on the mountain top, the flaky pastry turning to dust in her mouth. If there’s ever been a time for her to need a distraction, this is it. Her mind is swimming with so many terrible, complicated questions that weren’t a concern even twenty-four hours earlier, and they only pile on top of the concerns she had before, such as her worry for Sula and the missing shipments.

At first she’d been looking forward to a day of freedom, but now, being _alone_ seems too steep a price.

Her mind flashes to the bodies piled on the dance floor, and her stomach turns. She winces, swallowing the dry bite in her mouth, and puts the rest of the pastry back into the small paper bag it came in. In the worst way, she envies the girl she left on Jakku—the old her who only had to worry about surviving.

“Your disguise could use work,” someone says, interrupting her thoughts. They slump onto the bench next to her, and add in a friendly tone, “Assuming this was meant to be a disguise, and you aren’t attending a funeral.”

Rey rolls her neck, bringing her gaze to meet that of Poe Dameron. He seems to notice she’s not in the mood—his strained smile drops into a tired expression that probably matches hers. “Yeah, I know,” he mutters. “It’s a shitty day for everyone, I think. You okay after last night? Leia gave us all a few days off after her statement this morning, but she asked if I’d check on you. Guess Solo’s not answering her messages.” 

“Senator Organa’s checking in on _me?”_ she frowns, then asks, “I understand checking in on her son, but me? Why?”

Poe shrugs. “She’s a good person? Demanding as hell, tough boss, but she’s a good one.” He pauses, then digs into the pocket of his jacket for something. Whatever it is gets shoved in her direction, and Rey takes what ends up being a comlink. It’s an old model, at least a few years back, and she narrows her eyes at it until Poe explains, “Figured I’d take the opportunity to give you this. Well, _loan_. Haven’t had time to ask around about the stuff you asked last night—you can probably guess why I’ve been busy—but with this, we can get in contact with each other. I thought it might be easier than you finding times to sneak away from Solo. I got the impression you haven’t filled him in on this little investigation.”

At the reminder of Ben, Poe’s face turns concerned. He looks around, and mutters, “Speaking of. Leia’d fire me if I didn’t confirm that he’s okay. You guys made it out with the crowd last night? I didn’t see either of you, but it was kind of a stampede out the doors, so—”

Rey sucks in a breath. “We didn’t, no. We got stuck out on the balcony when it happened. Had to make a run for it.” There’s a distinct lack of surprise on his face, and when she notices that, she huffs. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“Maybe we have contacts in the Coruscant Security Force,” he admits quietly. “And _maybe_ those contacts saw two people who looked kinda like you on security footage and thought it was a good idea to let Leia know.” He hesitates. “She already took care of it, if you were worried. It won’t hit the news—not like either of you did anything wrong, anyway. Even the guy at the CSF said it was self-defense… but the senator didn’t think it’d be great for either campaign. You can let Solo know CSF is no longer interested in getting your statements.”

A weight she hadn’t noticed pressing down lifts off her chest. “Oh. That’s…” She stops, trying to find the words. After a moment, she settles on, “Thank her for me. I don’t know what I did to earn her help, but it’s appreciated.”

“Probably more to do with Solo than you,” he shrugs. He readjusts on the bench, getting a little closer to ask lowly, “You _do_ still want me to look into those missing shipments, right? The woman who runs the place is Sula, right? Sula Tanau? Leia said to give you a hand, ‘so long as it’s not campaign related.” He pauses, eyes narrowing at her. “She must like you. Keeps asking me what I know about your relationship with her son. She seems to think it’s serious?”

Rey ignores that last part, despite her being curious about the woman’s intentions, and she nods. “Yeah, Sula’s her name. I know after last night it probably seems silly, but Sula does so much to help people here. Looking into this is the least I can do.”

“Hmh. A Palpatine who _cares?_ Interesting.”

She’s about to roll her eyes at him, maybe shove him off the bench, but she doesn’t get the chance.

From behind them, someone lets out a tired sigh. “Dameron,” Ben drolls, “Why have I found you harassing Miss Palpatine twice in the last twenty-four hours? Does my mother’s campaign not keep you busy enough? May I suggest a hobby? Perhaps something off-world and dangerous? I hear the survival rate in podracing is low.”

Curiously, a wicked grin grows across Poe’s face. He turns slowly to face Ben, but Rey stares straight ahead at the mountain-top, already tired of this conversation. Besides, she’s not sure how to interact with Ben after this morning. It’s all a little too complicated, a little too muddied. Part of her wants to scream at him, another part wants to know what’s going on, and yet another part wants to go back to bed and ask him to join her and forget about the past day.

“Hey Solo,” Poe greets in his charming, amused voice. “What, you have radar for anyone who tries to talk to her? You know, maybe nobody told you, but when you think a girl’s pretty, you _can_ just tell her. You don’t have to keep chasing off anyone who tries to have a friendly chat.”

Finally, Rey turns sideways on the bench, groaning. “Okay, that’s enough. Why don’t we move on?”

At that, Ben gives a terrifying wide, toothy smile directed at the man next to her. “Yes, Dameron, why _don’t_ you move on? That sounds like an excellent idea.”

She scoffs, finally looking at him. “And what makes you think I want _you_ around?”

“Oh no, trouble in paradise?” Poe hums. 

“Mind your own business,” Rey snaps, not taking her eyes off a clearly amused Ben.

Annoyingly, he just leans into it, giving a little laugh. “Just a lover’s spat, I think. Nice of you to worry about us, Dameron, but you really can move on.”

Pure _rage_ streams up her throat. “It’s not a _lover’s spat.”_ Ignoring Poe entirely, she gestures between them. “This? This isn’t a thing, not while you refuse to tell me what’s going on. You have the _nerve_ to threaten my family and not even tell me everything? Armie doesn’t even know what the Knights are,” she stresses. “He wasn’t even at the gala last night.”

Ben’s only reaction is a huff. “I tried telling you the truth. Or, at least what I thought was the truth. You just didn’t want to hear it.” 

She shoves off the bench, taking a step around it to shove a pointed finger into his chest. “What you _told_ me was that Armie is some sort of criminal mastermind who murdered a senator with his friends. Of _course_ I didn’t believe you, you absolute monster.” Even as Ben towers over her, looking down at her with the slightest smirk, she hisses, “This is not a _lovers’ spat._ I’d rather push you out an airlock than let you touch me again.”

 _Lie._ The worst part is, Ben seems to know it.

In the background, Poe lets out a low whistle. “On _that_ note, I think…”

“You say the sweetest things,” Ben murmurs, staring down at her. “Are you done? Have you had enough time to yourself? I’m getting the impression you’re ready to go back to your cage, little bird.”

 _“Fuck_ you.”

His smile widens enough to show teeth. “Again? That can be arranged.”

“Well, I don’t need to be part of this conversation,” Poe says. He laughs awkwardly, standing. Rey takes a brief break from her sort-of stare down with Ben, and glances over at Poe, who for once looks wildly uncomfortable. “I should get going, anyway. We’ll be in touch?”

“You won’t, actually,” Ben interrupts.

Rey grits her teeth, giving Poe a tight smile. “Ignore him. Yes, we’ll be in touch. I appreciate your help.”

“Anytime,” the man laughs. He nods to Ben, saying, “If this guy ever gets on your nerves, just let me know. I’ve got _all_ kinds of stories to share. I’m sure the senator does, too, if—”

“ _Dameron.”_

Poe ignores Ben, giving her a wink. She smiles widely. Hopefully enough to infuriate her bodyguard.

It’s a shame when Poe walks off toward the Senate Building. She almost wishes he’d stuck around to be a buffer, because being alone with Ben so soon is… not appealing. Or maybe it _is_ appealing, and she just wishes it wasn’t. The frustrating thing is, she doesn’t _want_ to be mad at him. She wants to go back to this morning and tell him she doesn’t need caf, so he doesn’t need to leave her bedroom. She wants to go back and pull him down into her bed and climb into his lap and kiss him. She wants to forget the memory of him holding a weapon to her closest and oldest friend.

As if reading her mind, Ben breaks through the silence with, “I’m not sorry about earlier. Just to be clear.”

Rey bites back what could very well be a shriek of frustration. She turns on her heels and stalks off toward her airspeeder with no intention of letting him join her, but he sticks to her like an unwanted shadow.

“You can go,” she announces, not bothering to look over her shoulder at him. “I was told I would have the day to myself. As the day is not finished, you and your blaster can get lost.”

He lets out an audible sigh. “Sure, I agreed to give you space, and _yes_ I said you’d have the day, but perhaps I should have set some ground rules. You haven’t even seen a med droid. As far as what you _have_ done today, I can excuse you leaving the apartment, I can excuse the shopping and the snacking, but _then_ you met with Dameron. He isn’t on the approved list, and—”

Rey freezes mid-step as his words catch up to her. Her stop is so short that Ben has to take a quick step back to avoid running straight into her as she turns around wide-eyed.

“You’ve been _watching_ me?”

Ben frowns. “I said I’d give you space. I _didn’t_ say I’d stop guarding you.”

“Oh… _my gods,”_ she says, stunned at his nerve. “First, that’s creepy. Second, why don’t you stop it with this _approved list_ nonsense? Clearly you just don’t like me talking to Poe, which is, frankly, ridiculous. But—but even if there _was_ a so-called _approved list_ , you following me crosses a line.”

He blinks at her as though he doesn’t understand why she’s so bothered. “Rey, you almost died after an attack last night, and then _sort of_ broke down once we got home. Were you honestly under the impression I’d let you go exploring Galactic City on your own today? What sort of bodyguard would I be if I did that? Your grandfather would fire me in a minute.”

“Oh, and what a shame that’d be,” she says, her voice seeping with sarcasm. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, thrumming with pent up rage. “Okay. You seem intent on—”

Ben silences her with a hand, murmuring a stunned, “Shhh—shut up for a minute.”

“ _Excuse me?”_

He stares past her, looking more and more surprised by the moment, so she looks back over her shoulder, only for him to blurt, “No, no, don’t look, don’t draw attention. Act normal.”

“If this is a distraction technique, it’s a terrible one,” she snaps.

“Not a fucking distraction technique,” he mutters. “Now _shut up_ for a minute.”

“You _cannot_ keep telling me to—”

His eyes cut to hers, and he reaches up to grip both her shoulders. “There’s someone watching us from your airspeeder and I’m trying to figure out who it is without getting their attention,” he hisses. “So when I say _shut the fuck up_ , what I mean is that I need you to _close your mouth_ before one of us gets killed.”

_“What?!”_

Ben cups the back of her head and covers her mouth with his other hand. For a brutal moment, the anger in her swells to the point of almost exploding at him and trying to smack his hands away, but before she can, he gets in close and whispers, “I know you’re angry, but I’m not kidding. There’s someone watching us from your airspeeder. Nobody should be in there, right?”

A terrible chill cuts through her cloak and runs down her spine as his words sink in.

Eyes widening, she shakes her head.

His mouth flattens into a line. “Look, you can yell at me when we get home, but right now we need to get out of here.” His eyes dart over her face, wide and concerned. “We need to stay together and walk in the opposite direction of that airspeeder, okay? It needs to look like we just changed our minds, not like we’re running from them. Nod if you understand.”

It feels like her heart is pounding out of her chest. Hesitantly, she nods, and Ben lowers his hand from her mouth, still cupping the back of her head. “ _Now_ aren’t you glad I followed you today?”

While infuriating, he’s offering a relief from her anxiety, whether or not he intends to. She rolls his eyes at him, muttering, “You’re an _ass._ Don’t you think they’ll wonder why you’re holding me like this? You’re hardly subtle, putting your hand over my mouth like that.”

His eyes soften, just around the edges, and he ducks a little lower. “Maybe. But I’ve got an excellent cover for it.”

“If you kiss me,” she whispers, “I swear I’ll bite your lip until I taste blood.”

She almost wants him to.

Ben seems to consider it, but must think better of it. He clears his throat. “Fine. Just… take my hand. We’ll walk back toward the bakery and take a sharp left around the corner. Once we turn, _run.”_

“But shouldn’t we find out who that is?”

“We can pull security logs from the airspeeder, no need to face them head-on.”

“Security logs can’t tell us _why_ ,” she points out, feeling more annoyed by the minute at how nice it is to be in his hands. “If they’re in my airspeeder, I want to know why. Just follow me and we can ask. It’s two to one and we don’t even know what their intentions are. For all we know, they’ve just mistaken the speeder for their own. This could be a massive overreaction.”

“Rey,” he grits out. “No. In three seconds, you’ll take my hand and walk toward the bakery with me. Understand? Fucking _nod.”_

“ _No._ I’m sick of not having answers,” she argues. “I’m getting on that airspeeder, so either follow me, or don’t.”

Something furious flashes in his eyes, but after a moment his shoulders droop. He shakes his head. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but let me be clear—I hate this plan. When we get home, you and I will have a very long discussion about you putting yourself in danger. Understand?”

Without a second thought, she turns and speed-walks to the airspeeder, her mouth tightening. Her list of questions for whoever’s waiting is long, and there’s no way—

“Rey, wait! _Kriff,_ this is an awful idea.”

She picks up her pace, spotting the hooded figure waiting in her airspeeder. She gets to it before Ben gets to her, though he hops in right behind her, blabbering a dozen or twenty swears as he slams his hand on the button that closes them in with their new friend. Said friend is cloaked in black fabric with not a hint of skin showing. Its face is masked in black metal that may have once been shiny and is now scratched and banged up from… fights, she assumes. They stand almost as tall as Ben, and just as she’s about to demand a few answers, Ben lets out a surprised, “Ushar?”

Rey’s gaze cuts to him. “ _What?”_

“Why are you here?” Ben asks slowly, sounding dumbfounded. “Where are the others?”

The figure—Ushar, apparently—doesn’t answer right away, and for once, Ben seems intent on waiting, rather than demanding answers. That makes her more nervous than anything.

“Okay, why don’t you explain why you know the name of the creepy person in my airspeeder, Ben?” she bites out through an uncomfortable smile. “I don’t _love_ that you know each other. Should I be worried?”

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, staring at their uninvited guest. “Should we be worried?”

The person tilts their head down at her. She flinches at the strange modulated voice that announces, “I’m not here for her. She’s inconsequential.” They nod to Ben. “The others don’t know I’m here.”

Ben’s eyes narrow. “So why _are_ you here? I left for a reason, if Ren thinks—”

“A friendly warning,” the modulated voice interrupts. “Quit. Let Palpatine find a new bodyguard for the girl. Walk away. You’re being set up.”

At that, Ben goes silent. He seems to stop breathing entirely. Rey looks between the two of them, trying to piece together what’s going on, and finally asks, “Set up _how?_ What’s going on, and why are you in my speeder? Does this have anything to do with the gala last night?”

Ushar’s mask turns to her and they take a sudden step closer. If she had hackles, they’d raise.

“You ask too many questions,” it says, voice tinny and a _little_ frightening. “Keep asking and you won’t need a bodyguard any longer.”

“Don’t threaten her,” Ben snaps, grabbing the figure’s shoulder. He squeezes hard enough for his knuckles to go white. “I appreciate the warning. Consider your message received, but unless you have more information for me, get out of here and _don’t_ ambush either of us again. You have other ways of contacting me. This wasn’t necessary.”

For a moment, Ushar turns to look at—or maybe glare at—Ben, but only gives a curt nod. It seems like they’ll say more, but Ben hits the button for the door and gestures out, expecting them to leave immediately. 

They pause, just at the doorway. Without looking back to Ben, they reach back and shove a small scrap of something into his hands.

“For when you get bored with babysitting. Leave the brat at home.”

Rey bites at the inside of her mouth, forcing herself to stay quiet as the being leaves with what’s probably a huff (but sounds more like a growl, thanks to the modulator). Ben rolls his eyes, crumpling up what the scrap of paper, and then slides the door shut again as soon as he’s able.

There’s a moment of silence before Rey blurts, “What the fuck was that about?”

He lets out a beleaguered sigh. She can practically see him deciding how much he needs to tell her.

“If I tell you, _you_ have to tell me why you’ve been meeting with Dameron.”

She almost wants to keep it secret just out of spite, but the urge to know why he’s so riled up wins. She drops into a seat and waits until the speeder rises into the air to say, “He’s looking into something for me. Remember how I mentioned the place I donate to had a shipment go missing? Apparently it’s happened more than once. I _know_ it’s a minor problem given the last day, but it’s bothering me. Poe said he’d ask around, see if the CSF has any leads, though I’m guessing they aren’t even looking into it.”

“The CSF looking into someone stealing from a soup kitchen? Mm, probably not,” he sighs. He seems shaken, his face pale, but he gives her an odd look—something between annoyed and amused. “So _you’re_ looking into it? And you’ve got Dameron helping you? That’s ridiculous.”

“I told you what you wanted to know, now tell me what—” she gestures to the interior of the airspeeder, “All that was about.”

It’s clear in mere seconds that he regrets the deal. His throat bobs, and he looks like he’s mulling over what to say. 

“Ushar is someone I used to… let’s say _work with.”_

“Oh.” She frowns, surprised by the answer. “So he’s a bounty hunter?”

Ben grimaces. “More like a mercenary.”

“A— _excuse me?”_

Uncomfortably, Ben asks, “Is there part of that sentence that confuses you?”

“You said you were a bounty hunter.”

“I was,” he nods. “ _After_ I left the Knights of Ren.”

“The Knights of Ren. The same ones you mentioned to Armie? The ones you accused him of working for? The ones you called dangerous?”

“The ones I _accurately_ called dangerous,” Ben clarifies. “Especially if they’re on Coruscant. I think it’s safe to assume they at least helped plan last night’s attack, though they must have gained a few new members since I left—can’t say I recognized the ones we killed. But that’s not the point, the point is—”

Rey’s mouth falls open. “Did—did you just _gloss over_ the fact that your old friends probably helped almost kill us last night?”

He raises his hands, seemingly to calm her, but ends up frowning at the crumpled paper he’s still holding. He holds up a finger to her, then flattens out the paper, narrowing his eyes at it. “What is…” he murmurs, his voice trailing off. “I don’t know what this is.”

“Give it,” she blurts.

She grabs it from his hands, almost expecting the little scrap to answer all her questions. Disappointingly, it’s nothing. Just a list of four numbers, each with what seems to be a date. Rey sort of pouts at it, oddly let down but the lack of interesting detail. Not that she expected a hand-written confession, but…

“Wait, are those city grid coordinates?” Ben asks, looking at it over her shoulder.

She considers the first one, and _yes,_ there’s a level, a block, a street number. Narrowing her eyes at it, she tries to place the first one, and— 

“Oh my gods,” she gasps. “Oh my _gods,_ that first one, I think…” She turns around, eyes wide, and orders, “Bring it up on a map, I think I know where that is.”

Just as the airspeeder gently touches down on their apartment’s assigned landing pad, Ben brings up a holomap of the city, zooming in on the first set of coordinates. It zooms in on a level, a city block, then on a specific building, and the two of them go quiet as they stare at it.

“Is that…”

“That’s Sula’s soup kitchen,” Rey confirms.

Ben sounds just as stunned as she is. “Why are the Knights of Ren concerned with a soup kitchen? Does this mean they’ve been stealing from your friend? That doesn’t make sense. Who would hire them for that?” He glances down to the paper in his hand. “The date on this is for tomorrow night. Are… are these _all_ soup kitchens?”

She’s every bit as confused as he seems to be, so they spend an odd few minutes checking each set of coordinates, only to find another shelter and two small clinics. The coordinates are all scribbled beside times that span the next two days.

Rey can only stare at the holomap in slow-growing horror.

“Are they targeting these places? Why target places like these?”

“I don’t know,” Ben murmurs. “Missing supplies? Going after places that cater to the poor? That doesn’t make sense. Assassinations, events like the gala, sure, but _this?_ This isn’t the kind of thing the Knights get hired for.”

All the air gets sucked out of the speeder when she decides.

“There’s a simple way to find out.”

Ben turns to her, his face a wash of confusion.

She gestures to the map. “If we want to know what’s going on, this is a perfect opportunity. We know where they’ll be, and when they’ll be there.”

“You aren’t suggesting—”

“What else are we supposed to do?” she interrupts.

Ben’s jaw tightens. “Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous the lower levels are? No, no way, it’d be dangerous enough just going down there. There’s no way you’re going there while the Knights of Ren are causing trouble.”

“They almost killed me _next to my bodyguard_ at a gala of senators and Coruscant’s elite,” Rey points out. Her hands land on her hips, and she juts out her chin as she looks up at him. “I’m not even safe on _this_ level. I may as well put my time to good use.”

“Rey, that would be incredibly dangerous, you can’t just—”

“Come with me, then.”

He glares down at her. “What can I do to talk you out of this?”

“Nothing,” she promises, shaking her head. She’s ten seconds from bragging that she glimpsed Armie’s turbolift code, but she’d rather have Ben come with her than go alone. She repeats, “Absolutely nothing. All you can do is decide whether you’re coming with me.”

Ben abandons the map, stepping closer to her. “You think I’ll just _let_ you go interrupt a job the Knights of Ren are out on?”

“If you want to keep your job, yes,” she hisses. “Otherwise I’m happy to tell my grandfather more than enough to get you fired.”

Another step closer puts them nearly chest to chest, with him towering over her as he glowers down. Lowly, he murmurs, “You little _brat.”_

“You keep calling me that,” she hums. “I don’t know, I think I’m agreeable. I gave you a choice, didn’t I? Considering that I just found out you were formerly a _mercenary,_ I think that makes me reasonable. Generous, even.”

“First, I _left_ the Knights when I realized the sort of shit they did. Second— _agreeable?”_ he laughs. “ _Reasonable?_ Like fuck you are. _Reasonable_ would be you agreeing to go home and stay there. _Reasonable_ would be us making a deal, maybe one that involves more freedom in exchange for you not trying to get involved in whatever job the Knights of Ren are doing.”

Rey shrugs. “I gave you a choice. It’s not my fault you don’t like your options. Keep your job and come with me, or don’t and I’ll go alone.”

He stares down at her for a long moment. “I think I’ll go with… option three.”

Gripping her upper arms, he presses her back against the wall of the speeder, and mutters, “Option three. You stop being mouthy and promise to behave, and I don’t keep you locked in your bedroom.” He lowers his face, skimming along the bridge of her nose with his. “I’m sure we could find ways to stay entertained.”

“What, like threatening the life of my oldest friend?” she sneers. “Is that entertainment enough for you?”

“Don’t blame me for seeing patterns and following clues. That’s my _job._ But while we’re on the subject of Hux, your grandfather contacted me. While you were in the bakery. He cleared up Hux’s whereabouts for last night. Had proof and everything. I received _quite_ the scolding.”

Rey looks up at him for a long moment, willing him to say the rest of what needs to be said. 

“I’ll apologize to Hux,” he finally grumbles. “But I still don’t trust him.”

That seems to be as good as she’ll get. “Fine. He doesn’t trust you, either. And it better be a _very_ good apology.”

His grip on her arms softens, just a hint. His thumb caresses the front of her upper arm, and his gaze drops to her mouth. “I’m sure I could apologize to you, too, if it’s necessary.”

Rey tries to ignore the way her breathing stutters, and she whispers, “You could always go with option four.” His breath lands on her lips, warm and sweet. “Come with me tomorrow and lend me a blaster. Help find out what’s going on. Until then, you can spend your time answering my questions and… _apologizing_ to me.”

His eyes seem to darken as he catches her meaning. He hums, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a grin.

“Option four, then. Interesting compromise.”

Briefly, she freezes, both surprised he took her up on it and suddenly rethinking it at the wicked glimmer in his eyes.

“I’m still angry with you,” she whispers. “Armie’s my family. You can’t just fly off the handle and threaten him like that. I’m still angry, and I have a _lot_ of questions, and part of your apology better include answering them.”

“Understood.” His grin widens, just a little. “I could answer your questions over dinner. Or maybe you’d rather skip dinner? I can think of plenty of other activities for us. Lots of ways to… apologize."

It’s _far_ too much of a struggle not to blush at the tone of his voice. Rey clears her throat. “Fine, but let me be clear. I don’t trust you and I _don’t_ like you.”

Ben leans in, his smile still very much in place. His hand raises to cup her face. It’s firm, the way he grips her, but it’s firm in a way that’s safe. Too safe, considering everything. Too safe, especially knowing all the things she knows now. 

His voice comes out in a murmur. “Mm, sure you don’t.”

Unlike his hold, the way he kisses her feels anything but safe. As his warm mouth melds to hers, kissing her breathless, it feels more like she’s diving headfirst into something very, very dangerous.

Rey’s just not sure what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)   
>  [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)


	8. Chapter 8

Ben sits in the middle of her couch, staring at her with a bemused expression while he waits for her questions to start. Since getting inside the apartment, he’s showered and changed into soft-looking black sleep pants and a loose deep blue sweater that would hang past her thighs. His hair drips onto the fabric of the couch behind him.

While she holds his stare, Rey’s perched on the icy steel caf table in front of him, her legs folded while she tries to decide on her first question. There’s presumably no limit to the amount of questions she could ask, but there’s a chance he’ll decide at some point that enough is enough. Best to get the most important questions answered first.

But which questions are most important?

Rey frowns, not specifically at him, but Ben seems to take it personally. 

His brow quirks. “Have I offended you?”

“Yes, plenty of times,” she shrugs. “Currently? No. I’m trying to decide what to ask first. Per our agreement, I have from now until our… let’s call it an _adventure…_ to get answers from you. Answers,” she repeats, trying not to grin or blush, “And maybe an apology or two.”

There’s the slightest gleam in his eyes. “Ah. This is an interrogation.”

“Something like that.”

Ben nods, seeming to humor her. He leans forward, and her eyes track the way he pushes his long sleeves up his forearms in a path she has the oddest urge to lick. For a moment, she wants to abandon her questions and see if he’d—

“You know,” he sighs, resting his elbows on his knees, “In some interrogations, there’s back and forth. So, I’d give you the information you want, and I get something in return. An incentive. The more questions I answer, the more I’d get.”

Her mouth feels as dry as Jakku during a sandstorm. “Incentive? You need _incentive_ to answer my questions now? I thought it was part of our deal. I agreed to let you help me tomorrow, and you—”

“I know, I know. But I think I could answer your questions in more detail, I could remember more, given the right incentive.”

“Incentive,” she repeats blankly, but then the brief grin that forms on his lips puts her at ease. Her cheeks heat. “What kind of incentive?”

At that, Ben sits back, spreading his arms, and rests them along the top of the couch. He sighs, making himself comfortable and somehow dwarfing the furniture.

“Clothes.”

She blinks. “Like… shopping?”

“ _Your_ clothes,” he laughs. “Interrogations are boring. I think… one article of clothing per question. When you’ve run out…” 

His words trail off, but the way his eyes scan over her makes whatever he was going to say unnecessary. Rey swallows. It’s not an unappealing idea. Perhaps the best part of it is that it doesn’t require her _admitting_ it’s an idea she doesn’t mind.

Her voice is embarrassingly breathy. “Fine.”

By her math, that’s a solid six or seven questions, so she yanks off one of her fluffy green slippers and chucks it at his head. Ben catches it, giving her a challenging stare. He seems unimpressed with her first offering, but Rey folds her arms over her chest, silently daring him to argue.

After a long moment, he bursts out laughing, nearly scaring her out of her skin.

“I suppose that counts,” he works out through a wide grin, and Rey just stares because she’s pretty sure she’s never seen him laugh like this. His shoulders are shaking, and he looks strangely carefree, in a way neither of them really are. He stops after a moment, still smiling at her. “Your question?”

“Right. Yes.” There’s so much to ask, so much she suspects him of keeping from her. “Since we may run into them tomorrow,” she starts slowly, “Who are the Knights of Ren? No, wait. Um. Let’s go with… what was your involvement with the Knights of Ren?”

Ben nods again, like he expected this question. His expression changes in a blink, suddenly serious again. “I was a member. After I left Alderaan, I wandered around a bit, spent some time with an Uncle in Cloud City. I got into some trouble and someone—Ushar, actually—helped me out and ended up recruiting me. I was one of their members for a few years.”

She tilts her head. “Why did you leave them?”

“That’s… complicated.” He wipes at his mouth and takes in a long breath. “Something to keep in mind is that they didn’t know who I was. Or most of them didn’t. I came to find that the leader, Ren, did, but the other Knights didn’t. As far as I knew, we were criminals, _yes,_ but criminals who targeted other criminals, if that makes sense. I could tell myself they deserved it. Some people we went after were horrific—slave traders, gangsters, people whose deaths made the galaxy safer. But then…” 

He stops, lost in thought. “Then they took a job for one of the Hutts, and once I knew who the target was, I couldn’t tell myself the person deserved it. I couldn’t let them go through with it. I warned the target, bought them some time to hide out, and… let’s just say I made some enemies. I’m a little surprised Ushar didn’t kill me on sight earlier.”

“Oh,” she murmurs. “Who was it? Someone important, or—”

“My father. Han Solo. He got into some scrapes before settling down,” Ben sighs. “Smuggled for the Hutts, and I guess they decided he still owed them some money, or they had a vendetta, or… who knows, maybe they just wanted him dead. The Knights don’t make a habit of asking, not when they’re paid well.”

Rey’s next question comes out in a whisper. “You killed people while you were with them?”

His throat bobs. “Yes.” 

“How many?”

She’s a little afraid of the answer, even more so when his eyes flick to hers, steady and unwavering.

“I stopped keeping count.” After a pause, he leans forward again, his eyes dark as they continue to bore into her. “That’s four more, Rey. Pay up.”

This was a serious conversation hidden under a current of tension—Rey’s not fooling herself. But something’s changed. The temperature of the room, the way he’s looking at her like a predator watches something it’s about to devour, the fluttering in her stomach that’s gone from nervous to a little scared. 

His admittance is a hell of a reminder that she doesn’t know him. Not really. Maybe she knew he’d killed before. After all, the way he killed at the gala was calm, like he’d had plenty of practice and had long ago moved past the rolling nausea that came with the scent of blood spilled by his own hands. Maybe she knew. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to think about it.

Her eyes flick to the hands—the ones that have gripped her, held her, caressed over her—and she wonders what else they’ve done.

“Rey.”

She swallows and finds her throat impossibly dry.

Ben slides toward the edge of the couch, his knees bumping into the table she’s sitting on. Her eyes have lost focus, her vision blurring a little as she loses herself in wondering about things she’d prefer not to consider, so she startles at the feeling of his fingers curling under her chin, tilting her head up.

“That’s four more,” he repeats. He says the words slowly, enunciating each syllable. “Pay up, little bird.”

Everything’s a little numb as she unfolds her legs, sliding off the table. She stands just to the left of his legs, slipping off her other slipper. Her sweater—the cozy white one one she’s now relieved to have left on—is next. She tugs it up over her head, oddly glad to have put it on over a tank. It’s strange. He’s seen every bit of her, but this makes her feel even more exposed than she was just a couple nights ago, when she stood in front of him and let her towel fall.

She flushes at his intense gaze, even more so when he murmurs, “Pants, next, I think.”

“Was it a lot? Of people, I mean.”

The answer isn’t one she wants, but Rey’s not sure any answer to it would be good. Any answer is more than zero.

But then again, her number isn’t zero, either.

Ben doesn’t answer. He works his jaw, then juts his chin toward her. “Pants, Rey.”

“Right,” she mumbles. It’s strange, the way her fingers are a little jittery as she unbuttons the top of her pants. Even more strange is the way nerves continue to flutter in her stomach as she pushes the soft fabric past her hips, past her thighs and knees, and all the bits of skin his mouth has pressed to. It seems silly—ridiculous, even—to feel so nervous.

Maybe it’s what he admitted to, maybe it’s the fact that he’s fully clothed, or maybe it’s the daylight streaming in, so different from and more real than the black shadows of her bedroom during the middle of the night.

There are three options left, and one more owed. Rey goes for the scrap of fabric that passes for a breast-band, lacy and hardly supportive anyway. Ben watches, seeming oddly amused as she wrenches it off under her gray tank, tossing it toward him with a huff.

“Good enough?”

He gives her a good look, his eyes lingering somewhere around her still-covered breasts before sliding down to her belly, to the soft cotton that covers the rest of her. For a moment, he doesn’t say a word. He adjusts on the couch, clears his throat quietly, and, with a single hand, pats his thigh, as if gesturing for her to sit.

Rey folds her arms over her chest. “I don’t have to do what you want. That wasn’t part of this deal. I still have questions.”

“You’re right,” he nods. His hand curls over his thigh, then flattens again, patting the same spot. “But don’t you want to?” In a lower voice, he adds, “If you want more answers, you’ll sit."

She doesn’t think twice. He’s not wrong—against her better judgment, she _wants_ to, so she takes a step closer, plants a knee to the side of him. He catches her, wide hands spreading across the sides of her thighs, then sliding to her ass as he pulls her close, settling her into his lap. Rey winds up pressed against his chest, feeling the soft worn material of his shirt under her fingers.

His fingers wander up her abdomen, traveling higher until they splay gently over one of her breasts, brushing over her pebbling nipple through the thin fabric of the tank.

“Ask me another question,” he asks, voice rough. “Ask me. Anything, just ask.”

Rey bites at her lip, trying not to moan or make some other embarrassing sound. His mouth finds her neck, licking at her pulse point. Her breath stutters as she works out, “Uh— what about— um. Armie?”

“Really not interested in hearing you say anyone else’s name right now,” he murmurs against her throat. As if scolding her, he bites at the crook between her neck and shoulder, then soothes it with a kiss when she lets out a hiss of pain.

“No, I— I meant that’s my question,” she clarifies. “Why did you suspect him? And why did you change your mind?”

“Oh.”

He doesn’t answer right away, kissing across her collarbones—any part of her chest he can put his mouth on while she’s wearing a tank and leaning back for him. Her hand raises to cup his head, fingers tangling through his hair.

The smile on her face comes out in her voice. “Answer the question, Ben.” 

Ben sighs, raising his head. “I had a few reasons. A lot of hints that added up. He was sneaking out at night and wouldn’t even tell _you_ why. You said yourself he was being suspicious. I knew he was meeting with Mon Mothma’s team, I knew he wasn’t at the gala. Then there’s the information I didn’t share with you—he has a separate datapad, one he only communicates on with a single anonymous contact. They’re for arranging meetings, which is something you only do if you’re involved in something illegal or at least _very_ questionable.”

He squeezes her breast gently, then tugs her a little closer with the arm slung around her hips. Nuzzling his face into the size of hers, he adds softly, “As far as why I admitted I was wrong, it was the security footage your grandfather sent, showing the time, date, and image of Hux having dinner with someone at the same time as the gala. I still don’t trust him, and I still think he’s doing something he shouldn’t be. The only difference is, now I’m not sure what that something is.”

The moment his sentence ends, his hand slides from her breast down, down her abdomen, down between her thighs until two thick fingers are stroking her cunt through the gusset of her underwear. She tugs at the edge of her tank, pulling it up and over her head. One of his fingers pushes the cotton covering her aside, then caresses over her bare skin, making her eyes flutter closed.

She tries not to gasp, nor grind down onto his fingers. “I have one more question left.”

“You don’t,” he corrects, sounding pleased. “That last one was _two._ Why I suspected him to begin with, and why I no longer do. Two questions.” With a hum, he says, “But that’s fine, you can leave these on. I’ll work around them. Are we alone?”

Rey nods, her eyes still closed. One of his hands comes to hold her jaw, fingers curling around her neck, and he pulls her into a firm kiss, his mouth slotting over hers as he takes whatever he wants. It seems like he wants everything. Every bit of her, every piece. Every kiss, and every touch. 

It’s like being in a trance. Oddly, it’s almost a relief to stop asking questions and stop wondering if she should do any of this. It’s a relief, letting him decide. Letting him _take._

She leans against his chest as he works over her mouth, kissing her like he did when they thought they would die. Noses press into cheeks, breaths are shared, and she decides he’s the best thing she’s tasted—better than any sweet pasty, better than the fruits she’s bought from off-world markets. Better than cold, fresh water would taste after a lifetime on Jakku.

Hands that have both killed and saved hold her close, trapping her in a confinement she doesn’t want to leave. She’s so… at _home_ like this, on his lap, in his arms, that it barely registers in her mind when she feels one of his hands slide between them to pull down the front of his sleep pants. He squeezes at her side, urging her forward.

He tugs the gusset of her underwear aside again, tracing a blunt finger along her. 

Rey just keeps kissing him. The part of her that thinks she should stop this in favor of demanding more answers gets quieter with every slide of her mouth over his. She only breaks away from him when he adjusts them and starts pressing her down onto his cock. She sinks onto him slowly—it’s deeper like this. So much so that it steals her breath away, leaves her gasping for breath by the time he’s fully inside her, as deep as he can be, filling her just past the point of comfort.

His mouth presses to her shoulder in something that’s half a kiss, half him panting against her skin.

“You’re so… _small,”_ he mumbles. “Take me so well, you—”

She interrupts, tugging at the front of his shirt. “Why are you still wearing this?” she demands, just before she rolls her hips. The feeling sends shivers up her spine.

“You didn’t answer any questions for me,” Ben replies, his mouth tugging into a smile pressed to the top of her shoulder. “You didn’t earn any of my clothes.”

Rey huffs, leaning back in his arms, and the changed angle nearly makes her eyes roll back—Ben shifts forward on the couch, helping her wrap her legs around him so he can thrust up into her.

“Ask me something,” she breathes, squeezing her eyes shut. “You never asked anything. Not… not fair.”

He grips her firmly, keeping her from falling backward, and Rey can hear the teasing in his tone when he murmurs, “Are you sure this isn’t a _thing_?”

She chokes on her laugh—it turns into a moan, low in her throat as he drags out and pushes back into her.

“Well, Rey? Have an answer for me?”

When he traces over one thigh and around to her front, the tip of his finger just barely brushing over her skin, Rey’s eyes flutter open to meet his. Their gazes lock, even as he traces between her thighs. It’s slippery and slow, the way his finger slides over and around her clit. Ben stares at her like he’s daring her to answer, like he doubts she _can_ answer while he’s buried in her and teasing her.

To his credit, it’s not an easy feat. Every time she opens her mouth, he moves—nudging at her swollen nub or circling his hips or thrusting—it’s like he does whatever he can to make answering difficult. 

Like he’s afraid of her answer.

Something burns in her belly, something deep inside her that he keeps working himself against, and Rey leans further back against the arm around her. It feels like she’ll fall, but Rey’s not sure the feeling has anything to do with gravity. Even if it did, he’ll catch her. She knows it.

She leans in to press her mouth to his, trying to answer him with her kiss. It’s as sweet and honest as she’s capable of—she holds his face, kissing him so slowly it aches. Her fingertips caress his face, over his cheekbones, along his jaw, like she wants to memorize him.

Maybe she already has. Maybe she knows every inch of him, and maybe there’s no way she’d forget it.

Against his mouth, she mumbles, “No, absolutely not, you’re just a convenience. _”_

Ben pulls back, just a little. It’s brief, but there’s a glimmer of hurt there until his eyes drop to her hint of a smile. He lets out a huff, nuzzling at her face. “You really are brat."

“But you like that, don’t you?” 

His next breath sounds more like a shudder, as he gets out the words, “Yes, I do,” just before he catches her mouth in a kiss. They go still for a long moment, their only movements tied up in the way their mouths move together. When they finally do move again, Ben rocks them together, no longer thrusting. It’s gentler than that, slower, going until sweat beads on her skin, and his, too. She rests her forehead against the side of his face, panting softly as they grind together.

“Yes,” she whispers, gripping at his shoulder for stability that isn’t just physical. “Yes, I think it’s something.”

Ben responds by catching her mouth with his, in a long, sweet kiss.

\--*--

Things between them aren’t tense. Not really, but they’re _different._ There’s some undercurrent of a conversation yet to be had, one that Rey’s too confused by to initiate, and one they just don’t have time to have. Relationship—sexual, romantic, both, _whatever—_ clarification is hardly the biggest concern on her mind. It… _is_ on her mind, though. Even as they sit on the ground floor of a decrepit, abandoned building, it’s on her mind. So is Ben, even though he’s right beside her, looking pissed as ever that they aren’t both locked away safely in an apartment in Galactic City.

The air isn’t just full of the awkwardness that comes with an unspoken question or two. It’s full of dust, of dirt and grime and things nobody should breathe. Even in the hour since leaving Galactic City for the lower level where Sula’s soup kitchen is, Rey hasn’t adjusted. Deep breaths aren’t an option, not without choking on the air. It reminds her a little too much of trying to breathe during sandstorms on Jakku. 

The small device between them blares to life, having finally found a news channel during its scan. 

“—expecting an announcement from the Senate later today regarding a full final detailing of duties and abilities assigned to the new First Senator position,” the reporter claims. “Now, we know the race is down to Senators Organa and Palpatine, but until today we haven’t seen an exact description of what this position will entail. According to contacts in Senator Organa’s office, there’s a faction of senators still attempting to rid the position, or diminish its capacity. Today’s vote will determine—”

Rey shuts the device back off, rolling her eyes. While she likely wouldn’t admit it to her grandfather, the galaxy seems to have much bigger concerns—especially right now—than his election.

Beside her, slouched against a wall with his knees pulled up to his chest like he’s trying to fold himself into something small, Ben grimaces. “How long do we need to stay here?” he asks for the dozenth time. “Don’t you think they’d have shown up by now?”

The soup kitchen sits just across from the dilapidated building they’re in. It’s closed, probably run out of food and supplies for the day, and so far, not a single soul has gone into or come out of either of the two exits. Rey sighs. At first, she’d been excited for this. Maybe not _excited,_ but eager to have a few more questions answered, maybe exhilarated by _finally_ taking action for once.

But then they’d arrived on this level, and she’d felt the choking, poor excuse for air. This level isn’t low enough to make a brief stay dangerous, but any lower or longer and they’d have needed to bring their own air. The lack of sunlight is even worse. She’s known sunlight and clean air are commodities on this planet, but it’s one thing to know that and another to experience it.

Rey tugs the front of her cloak further over her mouth, letting the thick cloth act as a filter. It muffles her voice as she ignores Ben’s question and asks one of her own. “Can you believe people live like this?”

She may not have had a reliable source of food on Jakku, but she had _air._ She had _light._

He’s quiet for a while. Maybe reevaluating his own discomfort at spending an hour or two in a place people live every hour of every day, thought it wasn’t her intention to make him feel guilty. 

“Yeah,” he finally mutters. “I know. It bothers me, too.”

Outside the room’s window frame—the pane long-broken—it’s nearly dark as night, despite it only being later in the afternoon. Dim streetlights cast a glow, but the air is so thick with dust that the light doesn’t stretch far. The only people outside are draped in ratty cloaks or coverings, moving quickly to travel from one place to another, spending as little time outside as possible. Already, they’ve seen four or five probable less-than-legal exchanges, but nothing involving the soup kitchen.

“This could be a trap,” Ben points out. “I can’t imagine I still have friends in the Knights of Ren. Not sure I ever did. You know they’d be the type to take you for ransom, _or worse,_ right?”

The _or worse_ worries her, but not enough to give up and leave empty-handed. “I wish I’d been able to get in contact with Sula. Warn her or something. What do you think they’re up to, anyway? More stealing? I doubt a soup kitchen has much to offer,” she frowns, “But I don’t know why else they’d be here. Do you think it’s just… I don’t know…”

“A trap?” he asks dryly. “The longer we sit here, the more convinced I am. You said it yourself, we don’t know why else they’d be here and _no_ the Knights of Ren don’t make a habit of stealing, not from a place like _this._ It’s a trap. I think that’s clear now. They probably didn’t want to take either of us in broad daylight—if one of us goes missing down here, people won’t ask questions. We’ll just end up on the news as being foolish enough to go to one of the lower levels.”

Rey folds her arms over her chest, glowering out the window at the building. He has a point, but if it _was_ a trap, wouldn’t someone have given them reason to walk over there by now? 

There’s a flicker of movement—something that could easily be another illicit sale—but her attention snaps to it. She slides closer to the window, grimacing at the drag of her thick, lovely cloak over a surface that’s more dirt than flooring, and narrows her eyes, squinting in the dim light. 

“Someone’s out there,” she whispers.

“There’s been a _lot_ of someones out there,” Ben sighs. “I hope you aren’t here for deathsticks, because that’s probably what that _someone_ is selling.”

Her mouth falls open as the figure turns and takes up position just out of view of a streetlight.

“Do deathstick dealers _usually_ wear masks?”

Ben groans. “Why do you sound like you know the answer to that question?”

She turns to him, surprised. “What, you’ve never met a deathstick dealer before? I doubt they’re subtle down here. Even around Uscru, they don’t wear _masks.”_

“Do I want to know why you’ve met deathstick dealers in Uscru?” he hisses. “Why were you— _Gods,_ no wonder your grandfather hired a bodyguard. It’s a wonder you made it to nineteen.”

In a hush, she snaps, “Would you shut up and get over here? I swear this guy is one of the Knights. He’s wearing all black!”

For a moment, she expects him to roll his eyes, maybe point out they’re both also wearing black and that it’s hardly proof, but Ben seems to think better of it. He _still_ rolls his eyes, but he also scoots toward her, crouching like she is as he glances out the window.

“Kriff. Is that a vibro-ax?”

“A _what?”_

 _“_ A vibr—just _get down_ , okay?” Ben ducks under the window, tugging her down with him. She’s pressed against his chest comfortably, almost wants to smile at him, maybe lean the rest of the way in for a kiss, but then his words snap her back to the present. “That’s Ap’lek, unless someone’s killed him and taken his weapons. That’s… not good.”

She pushes against him, craning her neck to see both the man and the terrifyingly massive weapon hoisted over his shoulder. 

Her breathing turns shaky, and it’s not thanks to the air. 

“Okay,” she says hesitantly. “I… I didn’t notice the ax before.”

Ben’s question comes out quiet and dripping with sarcasm. “What, you thought they’d be unarmed? What _was_ your plan, anyway? At least one of the Knights is here, we know they’re up to something. You want to try to get CSF to do something about it? I doubt they will, but—”

He’s got an annoyingly good point. 

Rey pauses, and then has a _terrible_ idea.

Clearing her throat, she asks in a purposely calm voice, “Do you have a blaster on you?”

“Of course I have a blaster on me,” he huffs. “You think I’d go anywhere with _you_ and not bring a blaster?”

“Good,” she nods, ignoring the comment. “That’s… good.”

The confusion on his face is obvious even in the dim light, but Rey doesn’t give him the chance to ask before she glances back out the window. She cups the cloth of her cloak over her face, taking in a deep breath, then yells, “Hey! Hey, over here! You’re a Knight of Ren, right? Why don’t you—”

She doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before Ben grabs her shoulders and drags her down to the floor, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Rey, what the fuck?” he whisper-shouts. “Are you trying to get us killed? _Shit,_ we need to get out of here.” She pushes against his chest, trying to pull his hand from her mouth, but he ignores her, peeking over the windowsill. “Oh fuck, he’s coming over here. What were you thinking?”

Finally, she digs the nails of her thumbs into his inner wrist, so hard that he lets her go with another swear. “It’s two-on-one,” she pants. “You’ve got a blaster. We can ask him some questions.”

“He’s wearing _armor._ The kind a blaster shot won’t go through! _”_

Rey blinks.

Kriff. _Kriff._

Her heart picks up faster than it did the first time Ben wrapped his arms around her, which is… _really_ saying something.

“Okay,” she breathes out, trying to convince herself this isn’t a complete nightmare of her own making. “Okay. Um. Okay. Get to the side of the door, so he doesn’t see you when he comes in. I think… I think I know a way out of this.”

“ _What?_ Rey, we need to— _”_

“Get behind the door,” she urges, pushing at his shoulder. “Seriously! Go, now! I’ll distract him, you knock him out or something. Whatever. We need to get him disarmed.”

Ben gives her the most ridiculous look as they climb to their feet. “Fine,” he says, with a near-delirious laugh. “Fine, yes, you _distract_ the hired-killer, that’s great. Can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” He mutters a few more things she pointedly ignores, while shaking his head and prowling to stand to the side of the only exterior door to the room they’re in.

And Rey… well, there’s nowhere decent to hide, not that hiding was part of her plan. The room is wide-open, empty of any furniture it once held. Whether it was once an apartment or small store, she’s not even sure. It’s been ripped of any plumbing or fixtures she can see, left to fall apart and function only as the barest of shelters for the most desperate.

Licking her lips nervously, she tugs her hood further down over her face, then clasps her hands behind her back and waits. It doesn’t take long. The knight—Ap’lek, if Ben’s guess was correct—barges in through the door not half a minute later. Miraculously, he storms right in past Ben, not noticing the man.

A terrifying, shiny black mask hones in on her. The hum of the vibro-ax sends a silent shudder through her, running down her spine like the blade of a sharp knife seamlessly slicing the length of her. 

Rey’s not sure how she avoids the instinctive step back.

Ap’lek says nothing, which is oddly unnerving. A death threat, a taunt, might be less terrifying.

She clears her throat. The lack of shaking when she speaks is and probably always will be a point of pride. “How would a person go about hiring your… services?” she asks, trying to sound casual. She unclenches her hands from behind her back, folding them over her chest and leaning on one hip like she’s a little bored. “I’ve heard excellent things. There’s something I’d like… handled. Some _one._ He’s become quite a nuisance. Follows me around everywhere.” 

When the knight still doesn’t speak, she blurts, “I can pay you. I can pay _well.”_

The man’s head tilts, and even with the mask, it’s clear he’s not sure what to think. One end of the vibro-ax lands on the floor with a thud, and Rey doesn’t dare look Ben’s way, but she’s guessing that weapon is the very reason he hasn’t gone for Ap’lek yet.

Rey takes a tentative step closer. Then another. Each step forward that doesn’t result in a defensive move from the Knight lets her breathe a little easier. She finally stops once she’s close enough to look up at him under her hood.

When he speaks, it’s not at all what she expects. At first it’s surprising, an odd barking sound, but then she realizes that’s just how laughter through a modulator sounds. With the hand that’s not holding the weapon that looks like it could cut through her without the slightest effort, Ap’lek reaches to his helmet, yanking it off with a heavy sigh. It’s hard to see the specific features, but he seems mostly human, perhaps a little older than Ben. One side of his face is heavily scarred, and odd yellow-green eyes find hers.

“Palpatine, right? You’re the kid?” he asks gruffly. 

“I—yes,” she stammers. Getting recognized was hardly the plan, but she goes with it, hoping Ben will _fucking hit the man over the—_

“Your bodyguard?”

Rey frowns. “Ah. Yes?”

The Knight gives another terrifying laugh. “Good. I’ll do it for free.”

What. _What._

Her eyes narrow in confusion, just as there’s a rustle of fabric from behind Ap’lek. Faster than it can register in her mind, there’s the shine of a blaster as it slams into the side of the Knight’s head, dropping him with a painful little whimper as fast as an actual well-placed shot might. He crumples to the floor, his black cape falling in disarray around him.

And Ben stands behind him, blaster gripped in hand, glowering at her.

“I suppose it’s good to know where I stand with the Knights, but did you just put a _hit_ out on me?”

Rey bites the inside of her mouth to avoid laughing. “Not intentionally.”

He makes an odd strangled noise.

 _“_ Help me move him?” she asks, gesturing to the giant heap on the floor. “He already knows who I am, no sense in trying to hide it now. We may as well take him back to the apartment to question him.”

“That’s _insane,_ we can’t—”

The sound that interrupts him isn’t really a sound. It’s more like an echo or a wave of pressure. Shattered glass. A _boom._

Ben reacts before she can, and he does it before she even knows what’s happened—one moment they’re standing there with her in front of a window, and she’s trying not to laugh because _yes,_ perhaps she _did_ just unintentionally sort-of hire a Knight of Ren to kill him, and the next, she’s pinned to the floor, coughing through a thick cloud of dust with Ben’s full weight pressed onto her. He covers her entirely, like he’s doing it on purpose, and _fuck,_ there’s a ringing in her ears—

He’s talking to her, or someone’s talki—

Muffled. Stabbing pain from hitting the back of her head, tightness in her chest from the new added struggle to breathe, dizziness, vertigo, nausea. _Oh,_ the nausea. Her stomach turns, rolls, bile rises in her throat as her head spins, and Ben’s still trying to talk to her, _why’s_ he trying to talk to her? Are people screaming? It seems like people are screaming or _should_ be but Rey can’t tell. Her head lolls.

She feels drunk. Or maybe like she got drunk, and then let her airspeeder jerk back and forth, upside down while flying. 

The ringing doesn’t stop, not even when Ben’s tugging her up off the floor and shaking her shoulders. He catches her as she stumbles, her balance just _gone._ After a second or maybe an hour, her hearing snaps back like an elastic band stretched too far, right in the middle of him yelling at her.

“— _go!”_

“What?” she breathes, clutching at the front of his robes. The breath in is a mistake—there’s a thick cloud of cough-inducing filth in the air, choking her.

Ben stares at her as though she’s lost her mind. “We have to get out of here, it’s not safe, come on!”

“Wh—”

The lightheaded, woozy feeling comes with a burn in her throat and chest.

That’s when everything goes black around the edges.

\--*--

The very first night Rey was shown her new room on Coruscant, it was impossible to sleep. It wasn’t the unfamiliar noises, nor the different lighting, and it wasn’t even the temperature—it was her bed. It was too soft. She sunk into it like it was quicksand pulling her in, and terror spiked inside her every time she rested her weight on it. A droid found her on the floor the next morning, curled around a blanket. It took _weeks_ before she spent an entire night properly in the bed, and once she did, it was like being hugged for hours on end by something warm and soft.

Just like now. Something’s wrapped around her, her face pressed to something solid and clean-smelling. A hand pulls through her hair soothingly. A voice, accented like hers, murmurs, “You’re okay, you’re safe. We got you home.”

It’s a voice that sounds like home.

Rey blinks her eyes open blearily, finding only the darkness of being nuzzled into someone’s shirt. She lets out a sigh, leaning further into a familiar, safe hold.

“Are you awake?” Armie asks quietly. “You can keep sleeping, if you need. I’ve got you.”

She closes her eyes again, letting herself melt back into the warmth.

\--*--

The voices drift in and out.

“—secured, I had some bindings on the Falcon, but I don’t think he’ll be trouble, not if we can pay. How’s Rey doing? The med droid updated me, but has she woken up at all?”

The chest beneath her cheek rumbles. “She’s been in and out, hasn’t said anything. The cuts and scratches must have been superficial, the bacta already cleared them up.”

“She needs rest.” There’s a pause. “She looks… comfortable.”

“Oh stop it, I can see your thoughts written all over your face. We may as well be siblings, _believe me,_ any jealousy you’re feeling is misplaced.”

“Right,” Ben replies, sounding awkward. “Sorry.” 

“You can be sorry about that, but not about waving a blaster in my face?”

A cough. “Just… take care of her. Keep her comfortable. The meds should help her sleep.”

There’s more talking, but the voices drift away again.

\--*--

“Do you _really_ think that brute will answer your questions?”

“He’s not keen to answer mine, but you or Rey could probably pay him to.”

There’s a lengthy sigh. “I can’t believe we brought him back here. Has Senator Palpatine started yelling yet?”

“No response from him.”

“ _Still?_ It’s been hours, that’s odd.”

“Maybe a meeting ran late?”

Armie replies uneasily, running his fingers through her hair. “I suppose.”

When Ben speaks again, his voice is soft. “She likes it braided. I can show you, if you’d like.”

“You didn’t braid it, did you? You know, I _am_ aware of Alderaanian customs, even if she isn’t.”

“I assume you’re well aware, so if I _did_ braid her hair, that wouldn’t be something I’d tell many people. Certainly not a person who may tell Senator Palpatine.”

“Hm. The prince of Alderaan, braiding the hair of a Palpatine? The _scandal._ ”

A long beat of silence.

“Speaking of Senator Palpatine,” Ben mutters, “I should try contacting him again.”

Her pillow shakes in quiet laughter.

\--*--

“I’m calling Dameron. I can’t get in contact with Senator Palpatine or anyone on his staff.”

“And you think _Poe Dameron_ will help? May I ask when you lost your mind?”

Ben’s response is dry. “Probably around the time I started working here. Look, I don’t like him either, but if anyone’s going to monitor the Senator, it’ll be his competition. I can at least ask if he’s been around the senate building.”

A groan. “Fine, fine. But it’s a terrible idea.”

“If I had a credit for every time I thought that about something that’s happened at this apartment—”

Armie interrupts, sounding utterly offended. “I’m sure I don’t want to know what _terrible ideas_ have been had at this apartment lately. While we’re on the subject, though, I’ve had the security cameras in the living room redirected.”

There’s silence for a while, before Ben’s voice comes out faint. “Security cameras?”

“Yes, you owe me _many_ drinks, and _no,_ nobody else has seen, other than a poor droid and I. I saw less than ten seconds. That was plenty. After that, the tapes were mysteriously wiped.”

Someone—Ben, probably—coughs. “Right. Thank you.”

“I wasn’t kidding about the drinks. You can get me one right now, since she’s draped over me.”

“Do you need a break? It’s been hours, I can keep an eye on her if you need to stretch your legs.”

A hand soothes over her loose hair. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

\--*--

She drifts in and out, but consciousness always seems just a little out of reach.

There have been times when she’s wondered what a beach might be like. What sand would be like, when it wasn’t wretched and endless. She thinks it would be warm and kind of soft, a pleasant thing to rest on while letting water pool around her feet. She imagines being at one now—at some nonexistent shore where the only endless things are the sky and the water. She imagines an ocean, somewhere far away, and—

Something tugs at the edge of her mind. Something terrible.

The sand, though. The sand is nice. She imagines—or maybe dreams, this might be a dream, a pleasant one—running her fingers through the light brown and off-white sand, letting the granules sprinkle back to the shore over the edges of her hand as she holds up a palm-full of it. A bird in the distance caws, but it’s a gentle sound that blends in with the lapping of waves on the sand.

It’s utterly peaceful.

Until it’s not.

There’s an odd point where it all turns, a point where someone screams and the sand in her hand sprinkles back to the shore in black flakes of soot and the suns themselves turn into a terrible blood red that casts a burning heat on her. The water bubbles and suddenly, everything is _dark_ and the black sand finds its way into her mouth, into her nostrils, burning a path down to her lungs and her head _throbs_ and the bird caws are screams and—

“Rey? Rey, _kriff—_ Ben! Ben, get in here!”

Her eyes snap open wide, her hand tight around her own throat as she takes in wheezing breaths, and that’s when it clicks, that the screaming was _her._ She gasps for air, and an arm squeezes around her waist. Armie hushes her in a voice that’s clearly not calm. “It’s okay, just breathe. The med droid said you should be fine to take deep breaths now, it’s—”

“What happened?” Ben interrupts, barging into the open door of her bedroom.

“Fine,” she wheezes, though it’s a lie since her heart is racing and her head is pounding. “Fine, I’m fine.”

Armie scolds her, “Stop it, you aren’t _fine._ I swear, I leave you alone for _one day_ and you run off to one of the lower levels and get yourself _blown up,_ you’re never—”

“Hux, give her a minute,” Ben interrupts. “You can yell at _both_ of us later.”

“Don’t think I won’t!”

“Yell at me all you want,” Ben promises guiltily, walking over to the bed, his eyes focused in on her. “Believe me, I deserve it.” He sits at the edge of the bed, right next to Armie, and stares down at her, his expression flooded with concern. 

It takes a few tries to catch her breath, but when she speaks, her voice comes out scratchy. “What happened?”

Suddenly, neither of them want to look at her.

“ _What happened?”_

Ben clears his throat. “As far as I could tell, the soup kitchen was destroyed. Leveled. I’m still not sure if it was intended to be a trap. Obviously the Knights wanted me there, but I doubt they blew up an entire building just to take me out.” He pauses, admitting, “If I was their target, they’ve had better opportunities.”

Something sinks in her chest, and she winces as she tries to swallow, only to find that it feels like the inside of her throat has been clawed up and shredded. Ben continues, “You lost consciousness. I needed help, so I contacted Hux. We got you and Ap’lek to the speeder and brought you back here—he’s tied up on the couch.” His jaw goes rigid, and his explanation comes out a little robotic, a little detached. “The med droid said there were no major injuries, but since you were right in front of the window, you inhaled a lot of the ash. Loss of consciousness could have been a few things—shock, lack of oxygen…” his voice trails off. 

Armie picks up where he left off, squeezing at her side. “No lasting damage. Just lots of prescribed medicated sleep while the rest of the meds did their job,” he says, giving her a comforting, fond smile. “Give the bacta until tomorrow and you’ll be back to your rule-breaking, danger-seeking self.”

She coughs into her elbow, grimacing at the soreness in her throat, and glances to Ben. His hair is damp around his face from a recent shower, but there’s no way he’s slept. The circles under his eyes are even darker than usual.

Her voice sounds as though she’s ancient and ill. “The Knight’s here? Have you asked him anything?”

Ben’s hand finds hers, his fingers caressing over her palm as he shakes his head. 

“We were waiting for you,” Armie explains. “That, and he won’t talk to us. At least not to Ben. I’ve been too busy being your pillow to greet our guest.”

“Then let’s see if he can explain.”

Armie gives her a disapproving look. "A bit more rest, maybe."

"No," she blurts, shaking her head. It's a struggle to keep the wince off her expression at the motion. "No, I want answers _now."_

Neither of them seem happy with that, but after she glowers at him, Ben gives a sigh, and nods.

\--*--

It’s the strangest thing, how Ben and Armie seem to have developed a truce. She doesn’t notice it right away, but when she does, it’s incredibly odd. Suddenly, they agree on everything, at least concerning her. They even seem to think their decisions overrule hers. Does she need more water? Yes, obviously, despite her not particularly wanting more—they’ve practically decided to drown her from the inside out. Does she need a blanket wrapped around her? _Yes,_ even though she’s already too warm _._ Does she need food despite it being three in the morning? Of course.

It would be nice if it wasn’t infuriating. But she puts up with it—temporarily—because they both just seem so kriffing worried. They have a single day, she decides. If the mothering goes past that, she’ll start arguing. As it is, they’re watching her like they’re _both_ her bodyguards and she’s in a room with a hired killer… which… she kind of is. Thanks to the two of them, she sits on the coffee table, cross-legged, just as she did a day or so earlier. The difference is, this time she’s wrapped in a blanket, sipping at a drink of blended fruits, staring down a very different Knight of Ren who will absolutely not convince her to swap articles of clothing for answers. The strange parallel isn’t lost on her. 

Every time she moves, something aches, only adding to her pissed-off mood.

“Speak,” she orders. Her voice, while a sign of injury, makes her sound all rough and intimidating. At least she thinks so. “Why the soup kitchen?”

Predictably, Ap’lek gives her a dry look.

Rey sighs. She gestures around the apartment. “I’m hiring you to answer questions. I’ll pay you an _absurd_ amount of credits or whatever to sit here, on this couch, eat food that I _promise_ I haven’t made myself… and then answer questions. Easy.”

For a long moment, Ap’lek considers her through those scary inhuman eyes. He looks to Ben, and huffs. “She’s smarter than you. _You_ didn’t offer me dinner.”

“Fuck off,” Ben mutters, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re only agreeing because she’s willing to pay you and she’s _pretty.”_

The Knight shrugs. “She’ll get answers before you. Traitor.”

From behind her, she hears Armie start to chuckle, but Ben groans. “Answer her questions,” he says, “and don’t make us regret bringing you back here. You could have died if we’d left you. We did you a favor.”

“Favor,” Ap’lek grumbles. “Favor. Right.” He stares pointedly down at the restraints. “Doesn’t feel like a favor.”

Rey sighs, then musters up a grim not-smile for the man on her couch. It’s the best she can offer while she feels like she needs a decade’s worth of sleep. “You’ll get over it. Now tell me. Why the soup kitchen? Why steal supply shipments? Why ruin it?” Somehow, it hits her just then, that the soup kitchen is gone. She blinks a few times, trying to keep tears away. In a faint, scratchy voice, she adds, “Was anyone inside?”

When Ap’lek replies, he sounds more surprised than anything. “You think that was a soup kitchen?”

“Yes,” she frowns. “Sula Tanau ran it. You’ve been stealing her supply shipments.”

The Knight stares at her, like he’s trying to decide something. He glances back to the men behind her, looking more and more dumbfounded by the minute. “You think _Sula Tanau_ ran a soup kitchen?”

Tiredly, Ben mutters, “If that’s not true, why don’t you just explain what’s going on.”

To her surprise, the next thing out of Ap’lek’s mouth is _laughter. “_ Gods, you three are clueless! A _soup kitchen._ In the underworld!” He laughs harder. “The Knights of Ren, hired to ransack a _soup kitchen,_ you three are out of your minds.” The more he laughs, the more she glowers at him, until he finally asks with a grim grin, “You ever heard of Crimson Dawn, _Miss Palpatine_?”

She frowns. “Who?”

From behind her, Ben asks, sounding stunned, “ _What?_ No, that’s not— _”_

 _“_ Not what? Not possible?” Ap’lek interrupts. “That’s what they want you to think, isn’t it? You think members walk around wearing matching _Crimson Dawn_ shirts? Nah. They look like friendly ladies who help the poor and make friends with wealthy clueless little girls who are happy to fund their efforts.” He raises a brow at her. “You ever _visit_ this place before last night? Ever been inside?”

She shakes her head gently, eyes widening. “I only knew the address for shipping supplies.”

Ap’lek snorts. “Figures.” He leans forward, pushing against his restraints to rest his forearms on his knees. “Why don’t I fill you in? Crimson Dawn. The criminal organization you’ve been buying supplies for. Those shipments we stole? Weapons. Why do you think we’ve been stealing them?” He shakes his head, muttering something about _foolish, wealthy little girls,_ and Rey tries not to take offense. She’s a little too stunned to be offended. Finally, he adds, “Someone’s been paying us to take them out. They’ve got a few places in the underworld,” he nods to Ben. “That list Ushar gave you. We’ve been taking them out, but they’re all over Coruscant. All over the galaxy.”

“So who hired you?” Rey blurts.

He hesitates, gives a little shrug. “Someone who’s paying.”

“How could you _not know_ who hired you?”

“That’s normal,” Ben sighs. “Employers stayed anonymous for most of the jobs I helped with. Anonymous to me, at least.”

Ap’lek nods in agreement. “Ren’s the only one who’s met them, he might know. Meetings are always at night, always anonymous. Someone pays, we don’t ask.” He pauses, huffing. “We got addresses and an order to take them out, but no warning the target was Crimson Dawn. Ren thinks whoever hired us doesn’t know much more than we do.”

She sips at the sweet, tangy drink Armie made her, relaxing a little at the numbing chill of it sliding down her throat. Everyone goes quiet, seeming to wait for her next question. She’s not entirely sure she wants to consider yet, just how much this interrogation will cost her, but given the probable cost, it seems best to ask the important things first.

“Why the gala? Did the person who hired you suggest why Mon Mothma was a target?”

The man across from her tilts his head. “That wasn’t us.”

“They were in cloaks and masks.”

“And? Similar disguises or not, it wasn’t us.” He leans forward more, narrowing his eyes at her. “Why would I lie when my alibi is that I was busy hunting down Crimson Dawn members? You think I wouldn’t brag if we infiltrated a private, secured event and got away with killing a senator? You think I wouldn’t have killed you by now, for killing one of the Knights?” He sits back with a grim smile. “Wasn’t us.”

“Sorry, someone’s trying to get me on the com,” Armie mutters. “I’ll be back in a minute.” To her side, she sees him checking the little device before stalking off toward the kitchen.

From behind her, Ben points out, “The event wasn’t secured. They didn’t even check for weapons at the door.”

A creepy, spine-chilling sensation washes over her as Ap’lek says lowly, “If you don’t want a target on your backs, I suggest not asking around about that. Maybe ask yourselves who could have made sure security wouldn’t be there.”

There’s only one person Rey can think of—her grandfather, since he hosted the event—but it makes little sense. She shakes her head of the thought, just as Ben comes up to take a seat next to her. He squeezes her hand, like he had the same disturbing thought. 

“This is absurd,” she sighs. “You’re telling me you had no hand in the gala, and you’re suggesting the woman I’ve been helping is _actually_ a member of a criminal organization that is doing… what, exactly? If— _if_ —what you’re saying is true, a criminal organization commits crimes, correct? So what are they doing here? What crimes are they committing?”

Quietly, Ben explains, “Crimson Dawn is notorious across the galaxy, Rey. Even if all of this is true, they’ve done much worse.”

It’s incredibly tiring, the way Ap’lek looks at her like she’s an idiot. Slowly, he annunciates, “Crimson Dawn took out Senator Mothma. Don’t ask me why, I don’t know and you couldn’t afford the answer if I had it.” He shakes his head, grimacing at the restraints. “That’s enough questions, I want my money. Let’s say—”

“One more,” Ben interrupts. “This one’s on me.” He’s quiet for a minute, then asks directly, “Ushar told me to quit. Said I was being set up.”

Ap’lek’s yellow-green eyes narrow. “And? What’s the question.”

“How? How am I being set up?”

A slow, terrifyingly wide smile grows across Ap’lek’s face. “Strategy was never your strong suit. You took a job guarding the grandkid of your mother’s opponent. No job experience. No references, but you _do_ have an extensive history of killing. You didn’t think to ask _why_ you got hired? _”_ He snorts. “How do you think it’ll look if you fuck up and she dies, huh? It’s a quick leap to pin her death on you, and hey, there goes your mom’s votes. Palpatine gets the sympathy vote and loses a dead weight.” He glances to her and gives a shrug. “No offense. Maybe the guy cares, but why’d it take him until his first senatorial campaign to find a long-lost granddaughter, huh? You ever think to ask about the timing?”

He sits back, shaking his head at them. “Finding her won him his senatorial election. You ever think losing her could win him _this_ one? Ever stopped to think how much he might do to get this job?” 

“I— _no,_ that’s ridiculous,” she objects, scowling. “It’s just an election. He’s a senator, win or lose. He would never put a few more duties over my life. He… he may not be the most _personable_ man, but he’s my grandfather.”

Ap’lek glances between them, and clears his throat, like he has no plans to reply to her. Looking to Ben, he says, “You want my advice? Either quit, or make sure you’re damn good at your job. She dies, you’re taking the fall. I guarantee it.”

She glances over, planning to roll her eyes and take comfort in the doubt on Ben’s face, but there’s not a shred of doubt to be found. Concern, though, _is_ there. Lots of it. His throat bobs, but he doesn’t say a word.

“Oh, come _on,_ you can’t believe that,” she laughs, “That’s—”

A shaky, shocked voice interrupts her from the doorway that joins the living room and kitchen. “Turn on the news, right now.” 

Her eyes flick up, only to spot Armie, whose stricken face seems to have been entirely drained of any color it once had. “Do it,” he orders. “Dameron said there’s something going on inside the senate building, that’s why he hasn’t been able to respond, and why Senator Palpatine hasn’t either. I didn’t get anything else—he was whispering, said he had to go.”

Rey frowns, but turns around on the coffee table, wincing with the movement. She flicks the holoTV to a news channel.

“—has taken the senate hostage. As we reported earlier, last night the senate was set to announce the full final detailing of abilities assigned to the First Senator position. We’re told by contacts inside the building that the Senate was stormed while in session, but we have no recent developments. Crimson Dawn members have reached out to claim responsibility, and our contacts have confirmed that the entire senate was inside. No hostage negotiations have started, as Crimson Dawn has yet to release demands. Six senators have been confirmed dead, but names cannot be released until their families—”

She mutes the channel, unable to take more. “Oh my god,” she breathes.

Ben’s paled, squeezing her hand in a death-grip, and that’s when she remembers his mother’s inside, along with her grandfather. 

“Well, there you go,” Ap’lek snorts, gesturing to the HoloTV that’s still displaying images of the senate building. “You wanted to know what crimes Crimson Dawn’s committing?”

He hesitates, a little grimness seeping into his voice. “How’s a coup?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)   
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	9. Chapter 9

It seems like everything happens all at once, the moment Ap’lek speaks the word _coup._

The shock of the revelation makes her stomach sink and turn, threatening to rid her of the blended fruit she’s been drinking. Ben rushes to his feet, leaving her side. With no explanation, he leaves the room, heading toward their bedrooms. When she turns to ask Armie if there’s anything they can do, he’s left the room, too. Behind her, Ap’lek walks off and mutters something into a comlink, speaking a gruff language she doesn’t know—whatever he’s saying sounds both urgent and angry, despite the casual way he put words to the coup. Everyone around her jumps to action, leaving her alone on the caf table, legs folded in front of her, staring dumbfounded at the muted reporter.

But… what is she _supposed_ to do? It’s a sudden, terrible feeling of uselessness, because Rey has no idea. She understands the word in theory, it’s just that a _coup_ sounds like such a far-removed event that only happens in Holovids or on planets even more terrible than Jakku. But on _Coruscant?_ It sounds like a grim joke, like someone called in a prank report to the news channel. It sounds like the sort of dramatic, awful event her grandfather’s been warning about in his speeches.

_These criminals are threatening to destroy our great galaxy._

That’s what he’d said.

A cold creeping feeling washes over her as she remembers his cautioning speeches. What better way to destroy the galaxy than this? Ruin the government, and maybe Crimson Dawn assumes the rest will fall apart. It probably would, she guesses.

She wants to scream. Scream at the entire galaxy, at her surroundings, at _everything_ that’s she’s only human and can only take so many awful revelations at a time. It’s too much, it’s too terrible—too much pressure coming from every direction, crushing her into nothing, choking her like a clamp around her throat. How is it possible that her only problem just a month or two ago was being lonely and bored? 

Now she doesn’t know which problem to worry about first. It feels like she’s drowning in them. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to stay calm, but it’s too much. Tears well, and she wipes them away, not bothering to silence her sniffling. A few calming breaths pass before she can open her eyes and not completely break into tears just from being overwhelmed. When she does open her eyes, they feel glazed over.

Without thinking through what to do next, she wipes her face again, slides off the caf table, and follows after Ben. She finds him in his own bedroom, his door left open while he mutters into a comlink in a hushed voice. 

“I can, but are you sure that’s a good idea? I’ll do whatever I can, but— _”_

Rey leans against his wall, hand over her mouth while she watches him pace, seeming oblivious to her presence.

 _“Listen,”_ a voice whispers. “I know the Knights of Ren are here, my people keep me informed. You need to stay safe, but hire them—give them as much as they ask. They can come in through my office. Crimson Dawn has people guarding each airspeeder landing, but the Knights could overpower them.” There’s a muffled sound, and it strikes her then, that Ben’s talking to his _mother._ “Please don’t come yourself,” she murmurs, trying to stay quiet. Her words still come out strong. “Ben, if something happens to me, Alderaan needs leadership. _Don’t_ come here. Crimson Dawn’s looking for something and they’re killing anyone who isn’t offering information. I found a place to hide. Poe’s with me, but—”

“Don’t talk like that,” Ben interrupts, his voice cracking. “Mom, it’ll be fine, just stay where you are. I’ll get the Knights and we’ll figure out a way to get you out. It’s fine, you’ll be fine.”

Leia interrupts with the unwavering voice she uses in her speeches. “Ben. Listen to me. This is important. They’re looking for something Mon Mothma gave me—something they _cannot_ get their hands on. If something happens to me, get to Alderaan. You’ll be safe there. I know it isn’t what you wanted, but you have no siblings, you _know_ your grandmother can’t do it herself. I need you to promise me, and I need you to do something for me. There’s something I’ve sent to your father for safekeeping. A data chip. I only know it’s a copy of what they’re looking for, and—”

“Mom,” he breathes, “What? What the hell are you involved in? Is… is that the reason they stormed the senate?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Yes, I think. Stop interrupting, I don’t have time to explain. Mon asked me to store it as a safeguard—clearly for good reason, since they killed her. She said it was of the utmost importance, so _if_ something happens, I need you to promise me you’ll make sure it gets to Amilyn, and… and just stay safe, Ben _._ Promise me I won’t see you storming this place like your father would, with some hairbrained scheme. Your father doesn’t have a planet to run, so _promise—”_

 _“_ Okay, okay, I promise.”

And maybe Senator Organa doesn’t know her son very well, because she sighs with relief, like she somehow believes what is obviously a lie. 

At the realization that he likely plans to go, Rey’s breath turns shaky.

“Good. I love you,” Senator Organa says softly. “I’m… I’m sure you two would be very happy on Alderaan.”

He coughs. Curiously, even from Rey’s standing, she can see his blush. It seems private. Something she’s not meant to see. 

“Right,” he mutters. “Um. You’ll be fine, mom. I’ll send the Knights to get you and your team out. I doubt they’ve ever done a rescue mission, but for the right price I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” There’s a pause before he adds quietly, “I love you, too. Be careful. I’ll keep you updated.”

The call ends, and Ben’s back is to her. She probably should have made her presence more obvious, but the chance to do so seems to have passed. He lets out a long, tired sigh, but Rey’s the one to talk first. Her words are a terrible mix of scared and concerned.

“You’re going, aren’t you?”

His shoulders fall, but he doesn’t turn around. His voice is rough, thick with emotion as he nods. “I am.”

“But your mother said—”

Ben turns to face her, his expression enough to silence her. “You think I could sit here for hours and just _hope_ the Knights of Ren get her out unharmed?” He shakes his head. “No, not a chance. I know the senate building better than any of them, even if I don’t know it well. I’ll be careful, I’ll focus just on her and getting her out, we’ll run it like a covert mission, but _yes,_ I’m going.”

“You’re working with the Knights?” she winces. “The ones who were going to kill your father? Didn’t you say it surprised you one of them didn’t kill you on sight? I—”

“You don’t understand, Rey,” he interrupts, his jaw tensing. “I’d work with _anyone_ . You don’t get it—sure, she’s a senator here, she’s important, but on my planet she’s next in line to be Queen. Truthfully, she should be already. She would be if I hadn’t left. So _yes,_ I’m going to that senate building, and _no_ , maybe I don’t have much of a plan, but there isn’t a single thing anyone could say to change my mind.” He pauses, then walks up to her. His hand lands on her upper arm, squeezing gently, and his gaze softens. “I can’t say I mind you worrying, though.” The corner of his mouth twitches upward, just for a moment. “I’ll be fine, Rey. I’ll be fine, and once it’s done, I’ll come right back.”

“But how can you trust them?” she blurts. “What, you’ll trust them, just because you’re paying them? That’s ridiculous. _I_ don’t trust them, why would you?”

Ben seems taken aback. He blinks at her, and then his mouth curls into a deep frown. “I’m not asking you to trust them. I’m asking you to trust _me._ Trust me when I say I’ll be fine. Can you do that?”

She gives him a long look, and then scoffs. “Wait, you think I’m staying here?”

“Yes, because you are,” he replies firmly, like he knew this part of the conversation was coming. “We aren’t even discussing it.”

The words slip from her mouth before she can stop to think of their implications. They come out argumentative, but mean something entirely different. “ _No,_ that’s not fair. What if something happens to you? You— you’re the only person who’s been honest with me, you’re the only—”

Anything else she might have said gets mumbled against his mouth and then dies off as she sinks into the kiss. He holds her face in both hands, kissing her as tenderly as he did that first night. It’s achingly slow, even as he teases at her bottom lip, first sucking it between his and then nipping carefully with his teeth. His thumb ghosts over her cheek just as her fingers curl into his shirt.

Ben kisses like he’s afraid of what will happen when the kiss ends.

It ends anyway, with his forehead pressed to hers.

“Promise me,” he breathes. “Promise me you’ll stay here, where it’s safe.”

She almost chokes on the lie. “I promise.”

His shoulders sag. “Thank you,” he sighs, in the same tone Leia used when he told her the same lie. He takes a step back, giving her the slightest smile, and then glances to the door behind her, murmuring, “I need to go speak with Al’pek. Find out how much the Knights are charging these days.” He moves to walk past her, and pauses, just at her side. His hand finds hers, and their fingers lace together. 

“I’ll be fine,” he promises, leaning over to press a kiss to her temple.

It should feel sweet. Should squeeze at her heart, should comfort her, should make her feel cared for, but it feels like a goodbye and that’s… it’s unacceptable.

He squeezes her hand again before grabbing something from his closet and leaving.

Being left alone in his room is suffocating. The overwhelmed feeling comes back in full force, but before she breaks down, before she becomes utterly panicked and useless, Rey closes her eyes, leaning against the wall of Ben’s bedroom. She takes in a lengthy breath, wincing at the tightness in her chest, and she shoves it all down. The wondering about the claims that her grandfather could blame her death on Ben, the fury over being lied to and unknowingly supporting Crimson Dawn, the fear for the galaxy’s senators and whatever mess is waiting at the senate building, the worries about all the little things like her relationship status, or Armie’s situation with his father, or whatever odd truce Armie and Ben have settled on—all of it, it’s _too much._

So it all gets compacted, all shoved down, pushed away, locked up for a future version of her who can handle it because _she can’t._

The numbness sinks in. It’s the same terrible numbness she felt after the gala—the same empty blackness of _nothing_ , but this time she welcomes it. This time, she needs it. 

Her eyes flutter open slowly and focus on something across the room. It’s a blaster, left sitting on his nightstand. There’s a moment of hesitation—too brief, probably—before she rushes over and snatches it up. The material is cool to the touch, and for a little too long, she stares down at it with an odd fascination in the way the metal shines, in the way its weight is heavy and strangely comforting in her hand. With wide eyes, she clicks the safety back and forth, tilting her head. 

How different might Jakku have been if she’d had one of these? Her mind touches on a few memories, a few events—ones where she’d had no choice but to hand over her scavenged haul, ones where she’d been forced to accept Plutt giving her terrible value for a long day’s work. 

Maybe she’d have spent less time hungry, less time afraid.

Rey snaps out of it, and before anyone can come in and find her, she clicks the safety back on and tucks the blaster under her sweater. On the way back to the living room, she ducks into her room, hiding the not-so-subtle weapon under a pillow. 

The view she sees upon entering her living room makes her stop dead in her tracks. It’s a view that would have normally scared her, if she had the capacity to feel scared right now. Rey’s not sure she can feel _anything,_ so it’s more a sense of captivation that causes her staring.

Ap’lek’s back in full uniform—black clothing from head-to-toe, plus the mask and his vibro-ax. Nothing surprising. 

But then there’s Ben. 

It’s a subtle thing, but he’s wearing his usual all black with a flowing black cape. Just like he’s worn every time he’s left the apartment. The only change, the only addition, is a polished black mask held under his arm as he’s lost in conversation with Ap’lek.

He may have left the Knights of Ren, but it seems he still wears the uniform.

Rey’s not sure how to feel about that, so for the time being, she doesn’t.

“Okay,” Ben sighs, turning to face her and Armie, who she finally notices is sitting in a chair to her side, face pale and gaunt. “We’re leaving.” He must see how her eyes are narrowed in on the mask, because he clears his throat, explaining, “I can’t have people making the connection that I was in the Knights of Ren. It wouldn’t look good.”

 _A candidate’s son being in a criminal organization?_ she wants to ask dryly, _No, it probably wouldn’t._ She doesn’t say anything, though. She gives him a nod, almost wanting him to leave already. What she needs to do next will be easier after he leaves.

“You two will stay here?” Ben asks. “I’ll have my comlink on, so if you hear anything or see anything on the news, it would help if you kept us informed.” He glances to Ap’lek, seeming uneasy, and says, “I don’t think this will take long. A few hours? If we’re lucky, we’ll have minimal contact with Crimson Dawn, and—”

Ap’lek interrupts, his modulator making his voice rougher than probably intended. “Stop stalling. The sooner we go, the sooner we’re done.”

Ben works his mouth, then gives a single nod. His eyes meet hers, and if they didn’t have company, and if Rey didn’t have her own plans, this might be a very different goodbye. His gaze turns soft. “Stay here,” he murmurs. “Be safe. I’ll be back soon.”

“She won’t leave the apartment,” Armie promises. “Neither of us will. I swear it.”

A cruel part of her wants to laugh.

“Thanks,” Ben nods. He gives her another look, like he wants to kiss her again, but then he lets out a sigh and says to Ap’lek, “Let’s go.”

Rey doesn’t argue. Doesn’t chase after him for a kiss or to insist she go with him. She doesn’t give him a tearful, worried goodbye, nor an angry argument regarding his safety. She watches him leave.

But the very minute the turbolift doors close behind the two of them, Rey turns to Armie, demanding, “Give me your comlink.”

“What?” he frowns. “Why?” 

“Because mine’s in my room and I’m in a rush, _give it.”_

He rolls his eyes at her tiredly, like she’s a child demanding a toy, but he digs into a pocket and pulls out the little device, shoving it in her direction. “Fine. But only because you’re not being stubborn about staying behind.”

Rey ignores him. Once she has the device, she reaches out to the one contact she knows can help. One resource that can fix this problem and keep people—people like Ben—safe.

“Lieutenant Divo here. Are you aware this is a private cha—”

“This Rey Palpatine,” she interrupts, ignoring the wide-eyed, confused look on Armie’s face. “And I know an unguarded entry into the senate building that Crimson Dawn isn’t currently aware of, so I don’t _particularly_ care if you don’t like that I’ve connected to your private channel.”

Suddenly, Lieutenant Divo’s voice turns apologetic. “Ah. Miss Palpatine. Please know we’re doing whatever we can to get your grandfather—”

“ _Stop talking._ I’m the one who has something to say,” she snaps, wincing at the way her jaw aches when she grinds her teeth. “I can get you into the senate building. Meet me on Senator Organa’s airspeeder landing, the one outside her office. Be there in twenty minutes.”

That should be plenty of time for the Knights to clear the way. Hopefully.

“I—Miss Palpatine, this is highly unusual, and I’m sure your grandfather would want me to refrain from—”

“I’m sure I don’t care. You can take down Crimson Dawn if you’re willing to work with me. Senator Organa’s private airspeeder landing. Twenty minutes. Be there.”

She ignores Armie’s stunned expression and severs the connection before Lieutenant Divo can reply.

\--*--

Involving the Security Force was an irrevocable mistake, she thinks after it’s all over, while she’s turning on the water to her shower. She gets blood on the faucet. 

The sight of it makes her bottom lip wobble.

\--*--

It’s not often that she’s had to dress for action, not since arriving on Coruscant. Her closet is more dresses, cloaks, and embroidered robes than anything she’d call easy to move around in. Rey rifles through it in a hurry, ignoring the occasional aching pain that comes with her breaths. She pushes aside beautiful gowns, scowls at the foolish amount of useless pretty things that will be nothing but a hindrance.

She finally finds what she’s looking for, tucked away in the back of a low drawer.

A plain black tunic and fit-to-the-skin black leggings. Black arm wraps, a more fashionable version of what she wore on Jakku. In the strangest way, wrapping her arms feels a little like going home. It feels more like _her_ than anything her grandfather’s preferred her in. She shakes her head of the feeling, leaves her hair loose, and doesn’t think twice before grabbing the blaster she stole from Ben.

Spinning toward her door, her determination settling in further, Rey ends up stopping short at the sight of Armie blocking her way. 

They lock gazes as his turns weary. “I knew you gave up too easily,” he sighs. “I _knew_ something didn’t feel right, but… you’re really showing up there? What good do you think it will do? More importantly, have you considered that you’ve sent CSF after not only Crimson Dawn, but the Knights of Ren, as well? Have they even done anything wrong here? Because as far as I can tell, aside from being a little rude, they’ve helped fight against a considerably more dangerous organization, _and_ they answered quite a few of your questions. And you’re… what? You’re using them to clear a way for CSF, then letting CSF treat them as though they’re as bad as Crimson Dawn? Because that’s what will happen.” His expression grows more afraid, his voice shaky. “Do you not have a conscious? Or did you just not think this through?”

Rey huffs a humorless laugh, swallowing the bile that rises in her throat. She steps forward, jutting her jaw up toward him. “Move.”

“No.”

“ _Move._ I’m sick of this bullshit,” she blurts, her lip curling. “Maybe you’re happy to sit here and hope for the best, but there’s a bunch of criminals threatening what’s left of my family, and I’m done sitting at home and not doing something. I’m sick of you hiding things from me, I’m sick of people lying to me, I’m sick of people telling me _it’s too dangerous_ , and I’m _done_ , Armie.” She shakes her head rapidly. “I’m _done._ You think it’s too dangerous? Fine. I didn’t invite you to join me, anyway. And don’t get me started on _Ben—_ ”

“He’s trying to keep you safe,” Armie argues. “That’s his _job,_ and as someone who loves you, I agree with him on this.”

“I am not a _thing_ to be protected!” She gestures a little wildly with the blaster around at the room and spits, “I don’t care what anyone thinks, I’m not a bird and this won’t be my _kriffing_ cage. I would rather die out there trying to _do_ something than rot away in here!”

Maybe someday she’ll be horrified by it, maybe she’ll beg forgiveness and feel sick with the choice, but right now, she doesn’t hesitate. She points the blaster at his chest, not flinching as she flicks the safety off. 

“So get out of my way.”

Something stunned flickers across his face. He stares down at the blaster she’s still pointing at him, and bites his mouth closed. His shoulders sag. “You know, I’ve had my share of people pointing weapons at me. I never thought I’d see it from you, though.”

His words, probably intended to hurt or make her feel guilty, flit away.

“Then move.”

The look he gives her is more sad than anything angry. “Who _are_ you?” he whispers. Gesturing at her, at the blaster, at her black arm wraps and clothes, he asks, “Since when were you this person? I know this isn’t Ben’s influence.” Armie’s eyes wander over her scowling face, his brows tightening in concern. “At least when he threatened me, he thought he had good reason.”

Rey doesn’t answer. She’s not sure what the answer is, and she can’t bring herself to care.

“Just move, Armie.”

The concern on his face grows, but he gives her a gentle nod, and steps to the side.

There’s a chance she’s fractured something there. Maybe not permanently, maybe not past the point of eventually being healed, but something in her thinks their bond has changed, somehow. Warped. 

It’s a worry that barely ripples through her mind as she storms past him, making her way to the turbolift. The code she types in belongs to Armie, since neither he nor Ben have deigned to give her a code of her own. It’s _not safe._ It’s better to stay inside, they claim, better to nod and smile and be a senator’s sweet granddaughter, better to only appear in public when necessary, better to—

Better to be a prisoner, apparently.

The turbolift arrives, and she steps into it, rolling her shoulders back while the doors close and while the lift shoots upward, carrying her to her airspeeder. 

There’s so much inside her. So much fear, pain, worry, confusion—but more than anything, there’s _fury._ The kind that turns in her stomach, boils out, makes her want to scream and makes her want to grab something and squeeze the _life_ out—

She chokes out a breath, nearly panting as she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to shove it all back down. Part of her isn’t even sure why she’s going—it’s a terrible, cruel part that can’t forgive the demeaning pats on the shoulder, the insistence on spilling her life story to the press, all the rejected dinner invitations. That part of her almost wants to let Crimson Dawn do as they wish with her grandfather. Leave him for dead, let his blood stain the senate building’s white marble floors. 

Another part of her knows how little family she has left.

Stepping out onto the pad, she tries to calm down, tries to focus. She tries to take all those fractured parts, the ones that can’t decide which part of her hellscape-life to panic about first, and she tries desperately to put them together, to force their coalescence just so her mind stops trying to feel everything all at once. The wind whips her hair around, unruly as everything inside her feels, and Rey takes a moment to close her eyes and just… _pause._

The urge to scream, up here where no one would hear her, is overwhelming. 

She bites her mouth closed and runs one hand over the strips of fabric wound around her opposite forearm, but just as she goes to step into the airspeeder, a hand grabs and tugs at one of hers. She whips around, blaster ready, and startles at the sight of Armie standing with a grimace on his face and a blaster of his own. 

“This is a foolish idea,” he yells above the wind, his hand still gripping her. “You _know_ this is foolish, and that it could get you killed.”

“Then why are you here?” she shouts back. She tries to rip her arm away, but he holds tight.

His voice comes quieter, just barely heard above the heavy wind. “ _You_ wouldn’t let _me_ go alone. But please, let’s just go back inside. Please, Rey. Come back inside. I’ll make us dinner, put on a holovid while we wait. Please.”

It’s such an _Armie_ thing to do—to assume the offer of company and _love_ will solve her problems. Shaking her head, Rey shouts back, “Either join me or go back inside.”

He hesitates, and his expression turns exasperated, but he gets into the speeder behind her. Once the door closes and she’s programmed their destination in, she mutters, “Do I want to know why you own a blaster? Or did you also steal one from Ben?”

“It’s mine,” he admits, after a moment of deliberation. “And no. You don’t.”

Her eyes flick to his. “I thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other. I thought we didn’t _lie_ to each other.”

Armie gazes at her, at her black arm wraps and her black tunic and the blaster held so naturally in her hand. “I think you know we do,” he says finally. “I think it’s time to stop pretending we don’t.”

“Ask me whatever you want,” she insists, as they speed along the lanes toward the senate building. Her mouth tightens as she stares him down. “I’m not hiding anything. Not anymore.”

“Really,” he mutters. “I can’t help but wonder if _you_ even believe that. At least I’m being honest about keeping my secrets. I hardly believe you’re honest with yourself, why would I believe what you tell me? You don’t even _look_ like yourself.” He gestures at her, at her clothes, at her weapon, and scowls. “Or is _this_ who you are? A woman who looks more like a criminal than a senator’s granddaughter?”

At those words, Rey bares her teeth. “I am _more_ than his granddaughter. It’s like everyone thinks that’s all I am!” She advances, even in the compact space, and shoves at one of his shoulders. “Yes, I’m his granddaughter, but I’m still _me._ I was _me_ long before I ever knew he existed. I’ve been patient, I’ve let you all keep me in my little cage, but I’m done, Armie. I can’t keep being that person who’s okay with sitting in luxury while the galaxy goes to shit.”

Armie pushes her hand away, his lip curling into a sneer. “You think showing up and shooting a few people will help you sleep easier on your satin sheets, thousands of levels above this planet’s trash? You think being reckless will make you feel helpful? You think doing _this_ will make you feel like yourself again? Getting yourself killed is kriffing foolish way to solve your problems. You think _this_ is any better?”

“This _is_ better,” she hisses. “I’m finally doing something useful, this is better.”

For a long moment, he only stares at her. Even as they land on Senator Organa’s landing, he only shakes his head. In a cruel, disdainful voice, he asks, “Now who’s lying?”

As she pushes past him and steps out of the speeder, Rey shuts down the part of her that wonders if he might have a point.

\--*--

When it’s all over and she’s watching bloodied water pool at her shower drain, she knows he was right.

\--*--

“Miss Palpatine! Miss—”

The moment the man steps onto Senator Organa’s landing pad, merely a minute or two after Rey’s own arrival, he yells her name, getting her attention quickly. Lieutenant Divo is barely taller than her—his odd red eyes a little off-putting against his pale skin—but he marches over to her, commanding the authority of a portion of the planet’s security force. A few dozen officers, heavily outfitted in black armor and bucket-like helmets, climb out of airspeeders behind him and line up with their weapons, awaiting orders. 

He arrives right in front of her, mouth tight with displeasure. “You appear to be correct,” he says, as though the news annoys him. “Senator Organa’s landing pad seems to lack Crimson Dawn’s security. They’ve armed every primary entrance with explosives, but it seems you’ve found a way in.” His eyes narrow in at her. “Would you like to explain how you became aware of this information?”

Before she can even think of how to answer that—not that she particularly cares to—Armie comes to her side, answering bluntly in her stead, “No. She would not. Though, it’s fascinating that you have time to ask questions when the senate is being held hostage.” He gestures toward the door, “Why don’t you get on with it, Lieutenant.”

The man gives what could be an eye roll, but he nods once and turns, proving not for the first time that there’s a special privilege to being one of Senator Palpatine’s _charity cases._ With a few barked orders, he and his officers make a quick, carefully executed entrance into the senator’s office.

Rey glances over to Armie, scowling. “I didn’t want your help.”

“And _I_ didn’t want to risk you blabbing to the CSF that we’ve become acquainted with the Knights of Ren,” he mutters. “I doubt they realize the Knights are even on this planet. Better to keep it that way.”

Rey huffs. “Why are you so intent on defending them? Ben, sure, but the rest of them? They’re criminals, Armie! Helpful at the moment, but from what I’ve heard, they’ve done terrible things.”

“That’s rich, coming from the woman who’s killed someone. I’m sure you also don’t have a permit for the blaster you’re carrying,” he drolls, shaking his head at her. “Don’t claim innocence, and don’t forget, you _hired_ those criminals when it was convenient for you. Don’t pretend there isn’t a difference between the Knights of Ren and Crimson Dawn.”

“There isn’t. A criminal is a criminal.”

Armie gives her a long look. “Oh, I’d love to see Ben’s face if he heard that. You understand that—by your logic—you and he are just as awful as the monsters who have murdered those senators in cold blood? By your logic, you’re just as terrible as that Sula woman who’s been lying to you, you’re as awful Plutt, and as horrible as your parents? Child abandonment is a _crime,_ and a criminal is a criminal, so—”

Her fist connects with his jaw without her even realizing she’d chambered a punch. It sends pain shooting through her hand, and Armie stumbles back, his head turned to the side from the force of her hit. He raises a hand to the side of his face, hissing in pain. 

The look he gives her is furious and cold.

“ _Shut up._ Now come on,” she orders, her voice wavering. “Let’s go. We have to get in there. If my grandfather hasn’t been responding to any of your messages, he could be among the injured.”

Armie’s still rubbing at the spot where her fist connected with his face. “And what about Ben? The man you may as well have just sent Divo after? CSF won’t see that the Knights of Ren are trying to help—they’ll kill them just the same as Crimson Dawn members. Though, by your logic, I suppose there’s no point in warning Ben, since he’s a criminal. I assume you think he deserves it,” he taunts, his expression twisted into something cruel. “If the Knights of Ren deserve to die, surely he does, so—”

“Shut up,” she shouts. Screeches, maybe. “Shut _up!_ ”

She steps forward, almost _leaps_ forward intending to hit him again, but Armie catches her wrist before she has the chance. He steps in, glowering down at her with an intensity she’s never seen. It’d be frightening if she wasn’t so pissed. His hand squeezes hard enough to make her wince and gasp at the sharp pain.

Slowly, Armie says with terrifying calmness, “When I left my parents, I promised myself I’d kill anyone who raised a hand to me. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that wouldn’t apply to you. I love you, but don’t assume that matters more than my safety or my self-respect.”

He lets her go, and her breath comes in a shudder at the vacant expression on his face.

“I guess we do have our secrets,” she mutters, her cheeks flushing with something that might be guilt, or maybe just more fury. Her gaze flicks to the door to Senator Organa’s office—the one that’s been left wide-open by Divo’s officers. She doesn’t spare Armie another glance. “We’re here for a reason. Are you following me or not?”

Behind her, Armie huffs, but as she storms off, he’s right on her heel.

\--*--

Once she’s spent almost an hour in her shower, scrubbing her skin raw, she wishes she’d turned around and gotten them both back on the airspeeder.

\--*--

It quickly becomes clear that Senator Organa’s office has been ransacked. The disaster Rey finds upon entering is too extensive to have been caused by CSF making their way through the room, even if they’d been messy about it. Desk drawers have been yanked out and tipped over, contents spilled across the carpet. Chairs have been overturned, a bookcase toppled. She moves carefully to avoid stepping on books or making too much noise.

“Kriff, CSF made a mess,” Armie mutters behind her.

She shakes her head, double checking that the safety’s off on her blaster before moving toward the open door to the hallway. “It wasn’t CSF,” she whispers back. “Whoever did this was looking for something.”

_Mon asked me to store it as a safeguard—clearly for good reason, since they killed her._

“Looking for what?”

_There’s something I’ve sent to your father for safekeeping._

“Something they were looking for the night of the gala,” she breathes. Glancing back at him, it’s clear he’s clueless about it, or an excellent actor. “I think it’s why they killed Mon Mothma,” she admits. “I think… I think she passed something to Senator Organa, some sort of information, before the gala.”

His expression turns weary. “This isn’t something you should have gotten involved in. I know you’ve been wanting answers, but there’s a wide gap between being curious and risking your life for information.”

Somewhere in the distance, the sound of blaster shots echoes down the hall, grabbing her attention. She jerks her head in the sound's direction and grimaces as more shots follow. The memory of hot, sticky crimson blood slowly spreading out across a dance floor turns her stomach. Even the smell comes back with her memory, the metallic and horridly sweet smell that urges her to turn around and run home as quickly as she can, lock the turbolift, and never leave.

“Rey?”

His voice snaps her out of it.

“It’s a little late not to get involved,” she says numbly.

Armie glances over at her and seems a little sad as he nods. There’s a bruise blossoming along his jaw that jabs at her heart, but Rey swallows, looking away. She takes a few steps closer to the door to the hallway—the same long hallway of once-locked doors that she escaped down the night of the gala—and with a shaky breath in, she pokes her head out, hoping to find it empty. 

Thankfully, it is. Even the blaster shots have quieted… _or_ they’ve just gotten too far away.

Rey sighs with relief. “Okay. They stormed the senate while it was in session, right? Do you think that means they’re still in the senate chamber?”

“I assume?” Armie gives a hopeless shrug. “I don’t see how you plan to get us in _and_ back out. Crimson Dawn will have people at every entrance to the room and that space is _massive._ We have no way of knowing where Senator Palpatine will be.”

He’s probably got a good point, but her mind’s running too quickly to care, or even stop to think it through.

“I’m following CSF,” she blurts. “At least they’ll be clearing a path. We’ll follow the blaster shots.”

“Right, because every successful plan starts with _follow the blaster shots,”_ Armie mutters, but she ignores him. Without bothering to check the emptiness of the hallway, she walks out into it, turning left toward where the brutal sounds were coming from. Maybe he’ll follow, maybe he won’t—one way or another, she drops into a jog, heading down the long corridor.

Her breaths and steps echo in the chilling silence of the hallway, the space that should be filled with the quiet buzzing of senators working away or hosting meetings in their offices. She should hear the obnoxious sound of someone socializing loudly with their door open, or the stilted translations of protocol droids. 

When she makes it to the massive open space she now has less than pleasant memories of, it’s just as bad.

Rey comes to a screeching halt at the edge of the room—the space where her grandfather hosted the gala. It’s eerily empty. Normally senators or their staff would be milling around, having informal meetings and lunches. Even when senate’s in session, there are often people here, staff members who aren’t important enough to attend, interns who are skiving off while nobody’s monitoring them.

Now there’s nobody. At least there’s no blood on the floor. It shines like it’s been freshly cleaned. 

In the distance, down another hallway that leads to the Senate Chamber, someone—a CSF officer, maybe—shouts, “Everybody drop their weapons!”

Another round of blaster shots ring out, along with shouts she can’t make out.

Armie swears and grabs her arm. “Rey, please. You’re not trained, you won’t be any help. It—it’s _okay_ to just be his granddaughter. It is, I swear. You don’t need to do this, you don’t need to prove anything, I—”

She yanks away from him, pushing his hand away. Part of her knows he’s right, but there isn’t a single part of her that wants to hear it. So she runs. _Runs,_ runs as fast as she’s able, and nothing, not even Armie yelling for her to stop, will change her mind.

\--*--

It’s only when she’s curled up and sobbing on the floor of her shower that she wishes she could have been happy being a senator’s granddaughter—a little bird, tucked safely away in her cage where she couldn’t cause more deaths.

\--*--

The Senate Chamber is, by far, the largest indoor space Rey’s ever visited. The room—or what she’s seen of it—is decorated in a peaceful lavender, its middle surrounded by rings of over a thousand repulsorpods. One for each senator. Stunning as it is, she’s been here only twice. Once, she was allowed to join her grandfather in his repulsorpod as part of a minor celebration of him winning his senatorial election. Recently, at the beginning of his campaign, she was here a second time, for the introduction of his Military Creation Act—something the senate hasn’t yet voted on. Both times he instructed her to be silent, and the space took her breath away so completely that being quiet wasn’t a challenge.

As she bursts into the antechamber that’s lacking its blue-robed Senate Guards, and peeks out into the senate chamber, the room takes her breath away for an entirely new reason.

Bodies cover the floor.

Armie comes to a quick stop behind her. Maybe he bothers to look out at the living—the CSF officers who are fighting, cuffing, and chasing down Crimson Dawn members, but her gaze is focused on the pile of dead. Some are bleeding, some have clear blaster wounds, and some… some look like they were thrown from their repulsorpods, their bodies broken beyond bacta-healing.

It strikes her, as she stares, that a normal reaction would include vomiting. A _normal_ reaction to such a horrific sight would be a mixture of sobbing or feeling ill, but none of that happens. She’s oddly calm at the truth of it, even as she turns to a pale Armie and sees that, aside from turning white as a sheet, he isn’t reacting the way she expected, either.

His throat bobs as he looks out at the room from their _slightly_ safer location, as he stares at the chaos that awaits them if they step further in. After a moment, Armie glances sideways and gives her a long look. His clammy hand finds hers, and despite all they’ve both said in the last hour, he squeezes it.

“I know where Senator Palpatine’s repulsorpod should be,” he whispers. “Follow me?”

She squeezes his hand back and nods.

\--*--

Hours later, when she’s alone— _so_ painfully alone—the water runs over her skin, cold enough to feel like her blood is freezing inside her veins. The only thing that comes to mind, the only scrap of anything she has to hold on to, echoes over and over in her mind.

“I’m better off,” she chokes out from the floor of her shower. “I’m safe, I’m fed. I have a—” Her voice cracks. “I have a friend,” she sobs out, though she knows it’s a lie. She squeezes her arms around her bare legs, rocking herself. “I have a home.” 

The last part is the hardest to get out, because it’s the least truthful.

“This—” she breathes, “This is better. It’s better. It’s _better._ ”

Then, softly, “It has to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the cliffhanger, but CH 10 picks up right where this left off (action-wise), and CH 10 is what I'd consider the end of Act 1.
> 
> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)  
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	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes:
> 
> 1\. I'm sorry for the delay, but you can probably guess by the chapter length why this took so long. I chose not to split the chapter because I didn't want to end on another cliffhanger.  
> 2\. You'll almost definitely have questions at the end of the chapter. Gaps will be filled in within the next chapter or two, don't worry.  
> 3\. This is a dark Rey fic, meaning _Rey_ is the one who gets a redemption arc. If you're angry with her at any point in this or any other chapter, that's kind of the point.  
> 4\. This is tagged "Graphic Depictions of Violence"--please keep that in mind.  
> 5\. _This story ends happily._
> 
> Okay, I think that's everything! <3

It’s the relative quiet that’s most distressing. 

There are a dozen or more bodies discarded on the floor. Some vaguely familiar, some not, none indicating life. No twitches, no breaths. Burnt ozone and flesh doesn’t just linger in the air—it suffuses it. Part of her thinks she’ll never be rid of the scent. Blaster fire echos down from the upper levels of the chamber and mixes with the scarlet and azure flashes of light that puncture the scene like lethal fireflies. The quiet is only broken by yells and shouts and orders that blend, but it’s _too quiet._ Far, far too quiet for a room like the Senate Chamber, a room designed for thousands of beings to voice themselves.

But as she’s learning, death is quiet. Quiet and merciless. 

Putting words to her thoughts, Armie murmurs, “Oh, gods. It’s a war zone.”

They don’t have time for the terrible shock and awe of it. Rey glances around from where they stand and sees that some Coruscant Security Force officers have taken position on either side of the room’s entry, standing in three-person teams. On either side, one officer kneels, holding a bright blue convex deflector shield in front of themselves and two other offices who only move from behind the shield to fire their blasters. Bolts fly out from behind shields, fierce and imprecise… and any relative silence shatters with screams that are cut off so quickly it chills her blood.

“Ben,” she blurts. “Where the hell is Ben?”

But he’s not who they’re here for, she reminds herself. It’s a hard fact to comprehend, and she can’t help but scan the bodies, hoping she doesn’t see him.

Armie’s gaze cuts to hers, unexpected sympathy flashing across his face, but before he can get a word in, one of the CSF officers to their right shouts “Get back!” as a blaster shot threads just around the edge of their shield, catching the shield-bearer in the neck. The officer jerks, then slumps against the wall, the shield slanting as it braces against the dead body. She and Armie duck back away from any potential shots, and her stomach should turn, Rey thinks. It doesn’t. 

“Jorel’s down!” someone shouts. “What the—”

What happens next is something she, and presumably Armie, can only watch in morbid fascination. Her mouth falls open as a repulsorpod crashes down from high. Screams pierce through the firefight, and someone in senatorial robes—she doesn’t know who, doesn’t _want_ to know who, really—flies out as basic physics rip them from their seat in the pod. The whole repulsorpod bounces with a terrible shudder and flips, knocking into two cloaked figures. Somehow a second repulsorpod joins it, this one in a complete free-fall, its repulsors shattering with a terrible _boom_ on impact. When it lands, it spins wildly along the floor of the chamber, ripping through whatever formation CSF had. The sound of the impact and subsequent scraping along the floor cuts into her ears like a set of daggers.

Smoke and gas start to fill the chambers, only adding to the looming hell they’ll face if they ever make it into the chaos. She tugs at Armie’s hand, but the man seems frozen in place. Not that she can blame him.

“Regroup!” someone yells through the clouds of smoke.

It strikes her then, painfully so, that Crimson Dawn and the Knights of Ren will be even _more_ impossible to differentiate in the terrible choking smoky cover.

Another voice shouts, “Someone take that sniper o—” and is then silenced in a way Rey can only guess at. Terrifyingly, the sound of more and more of the officers around them dropping suggests she and Armie are right in the middle of someone’s targets. She grips her blaster with both hands, scanning the smoke-filling chambers before them. Where the shots are coming from is anyone’s guess, but she and Armie stay quiet, maybe both hoping the smoke will cover them… though it didn’t seem to cover the CSF officers.

A flash of red cuts across her eyes, and without a thought, she aims and shoots, a trio of bolts flying from her blaster. If they find a target, she can’t tell, but Armie grabs her arm, pulling her aside. 

“You can’t fire blindly, you’ll—” he hisses, but that’s not what catches her attention. It’s the red dot of a sniper, hovering on his chest, that causes her eyes to go wide for a brief heart-stopping moment. He must notice it, too, because his face goes sickly pale. Their eyes meet, and his hand squeezes her upper arm. Something drops in her stomach. Within a breath or a heartbeat, the dot zips away like a chaotic butterfly, flitting away and toward another group of CSF officers. Armie nearly sags in place, but neither of them have time to react before more shouts echo out over comms.

“Lock down all exits!”

“Don’t let them out of your sight!”

“Protect the senators!”

“Oh my gods,” Armie breathes again, gesturing at something toward the edge of the floor.

Her blood boils at the sight as she sees who she assumes are Crimson Dawn members in the lower rings of the repulsorpods, holding up senators in front of them like shields. She’s moving before she even realizes it, instinct keeping her low to the ground as she moves into what feels like more of an arena than chambers. Any of CSF’s organized militaresque movement seems to have dissolved into the smoke and cinder. The lasers of a sniper still pierce the smog, but other shots come in blindly, making the area a living nightmare. 

There are so, _so many_ dead. She swallows bile—borne not from the horror, but from the awful smell—and rushes forward, following the shadow of a CSF officer in front of her. Not a minute later, someone tosses a few spheres, letting them roll across the floor.

Someone has the good sense to yell, “Detonators! Get down!”

Without a second to worry about where Armie is and whether he followed her, Rey dives for cover, dashing behind an upturned repulsorpod that’s still spitting and hissing sparks. She can only hope she’s gotten far enough away, because time slows to a crawl as the _beep-beep-beep_ of an impending thermal detonator fills her ears.

Someone grips her arm, yanking her in a vicious motion with all the grace of a raging happabore. Armie snarls, probably in utter frustration, and continues to drag her under the upturned repulsorpod just before concussive power and flame crashes into the side of it. For a moment, her world is nothing but light and fire and pain and his tethering grip on her and the unmistakable certainty that _she would have died._

The fire and light disappear. The pain, the screams, and Armie’s clear fury, remain.

“This isn’t a coup,” he says lowly. “This is butchery.”

He’s right, she realizes, with a jolt of terror and rage. This isn’t a list of demands, isn’t a hostage situation, isn’t any form of protest. They came ready to murder the senate, en mass. The fear seeps in as her shoulder aches and her chest goes tight.

Beside her, Armie groans, his face covered with ash and a nasty bloody scrape across his temple. With a cough and a hack, he gets out, “Oh, and you’re welcome.”

“I never said thank you,” she fires back.

Armie huffs. “I know.”

“This is…” she glances around under the pod, “Not a brilliant hiding spot.”

“I _know.”_

As her eyes wander the interior of the pod, Rey tilts her head. The pod’s control panel main board was knocked loose, probably when the thing crashed to the ground, and sparks fizz from the inside. Still, if she’s reading the status screens correctly, the pod might still be functional. Flipped upside down and beat to hell, but… functional.

“I’ve got a plan,” she blurts. “Uh. Yes. Yes, definitely a plan.”

Through clenched teeth, Armie snaps, “What a delightful change. Here I thought we’d continue charging into firing crowds.” He hisses then, curling on his side to press a hand to his ribs.

Something angry and sharp throbs at her chest with every movement, but Rey sits up. Shattered glass cuts at the knees of her leggings, but the pain is confirmation she’s still alive, which is more than can be said for many. She winces as she wonders whose pod this was, as she wonders if her grandfather was among those who were launched from their pods. No one survives a crash like that.

Pushing the thoughts aside, she reaches for the panel and pulls it with all her strength, which is… not much, at the moment. Her limbs have a terrible wet, solid feeling, but she gets the panel open. It’s been years—practically a lifetime—since she’s worked at the internal machinery of anything more advanced than a caf dispenser, but it’s worth a shot. She scans the wires and mess of mechanism, looking for something, anything, that’s familiar.

Armie pulls up next to her, still tenderly rubbing at his ribs as more shots are fired outside their pod. “Rey, what are you—”

“We need to get out of here, right?” she interrupts, spotting a wire hung so far back in that she has to stick her arm in up to the elbow. Minor spits of spark burn into her forearm, making her hiss with pain. Her voice thick, she says, “We can’t crawl out. As you put it, we’d be charging into a firing crowd. But we still need to move.” She pulls the wire, snapping it loose from whatever regulator it was attached to. A low thrumming whir builds in the pod's hub, and she grins. There’s a wild, almost feral thing building in her, finally waking after years of her being nothing but _Senator Palpatine’s Granddaughter._ “How _else_ are we supposed to get out?”

Next to her, Armie’s face has gone even more pale. She side-eyes him, even as she reaches into the panel looking for the gyro-balancers. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Kriffing ribs,” he wheezes. His hair is sodden with sweat, and he grimaces. “I’ll live. They’re only bruised.”

Her mouth curls into a frown. “How do you know they aren’t broken?”

Armie doesn’t bother with an answer, and her roaming hand brushes against a wire it isn’t meant to—intermittent sparks fizzle to life, and the pain of fire and electricity burn up her forearm in uneven pulses, ripping a cry from her throat. She bites her mouth closed, brushing Armie away as he tries to help. She doesn’t _need_ help. Pain and suffering have tempered her life, whether in the form of a merciless sun or a gilded cage, and a lick of shock won’t do her in. Gritting her teeth, she bends the wire around another and manages to yank her hand away.

The whirring from the repulsorpod worsens. They have… _maybe_ thirty seconds until it happens, she thinks. Assuming she’s successful.

The odd mix of glee and adrenaline bubbles up in her throat as she orders, “Find something to hold on to!” She tries to shake her arm of the liquid fire that’s crawling up her nerve endings before she clutches onto a side railing with both hands. “Quickly.”

“What? Why?” He grips onto a handrail over him, his eyes wide as he repeats, “Rey, _why?”_

Maybe ten seconds?

She laughs, feeling strangely alive despite the death and mayhem and monsters.

The whirring reaches a fever pitch, the propulsors readying.

_Three._

“Rey! What did you—”

_Two._

She can only laugh at the horrified look on his face.

_One._

He swears in a language she doesn’t know, just as the pod _jumps._ Its internal braking system reaches a limit and the inverse propulsion pushes down, directly into the internal machinery of the pod. Holes blast in the pod's perimeter as the energy pushes through the device, shooting the pod up like a balloon free from its string. Armie wails as they shoot up past the lower and middle rings of pods at a shocking pace, testing any strength either of them have left. The pod flies along its arc with the two of them in tow while blaster shots from both CSF and Crimson Dawn trail past them, missing them both by inches. It reaches an apex just shy of the chamber’s ceiling and then flips right-side-up, tossing her and Armie into the compartment. 

Just as planned. Maybe with a few extra bruises.

Soft thuds and dings sound from the bottom of the pod—blaster shots hitting their targets—reminding them their trip up just made them the center of everyone’s attention. The repulsorpod coughs and sputters, but miraculously holds in place.

“I _hate_ you,” Armie groans, pushing himself up into a sitting position on the pod floor. “Never again. Your plans are terrible. Kriffing never—”

His complaining (and her resulting laughter) is interrupted by the sound of something fiery and exhaustive, followed by the sight of boots landing on one side of their pod. A Trandoshan—dressed in Crimson Dawn’s black and deep red that clash with its green reptilian skin—stands atop the pod, two vicious vibroblades strapped along its sides while it clutches a blaster in two hands. The blaster barrel looks wide enough to punch a massive hole in someone’s chest.

“Seriously?” she half-mutters, half-whines, “How did it even get up here?”

Armie doesn’t offer an answer, and the reptilian grins widely as it looks down at the two of them, but Rey’s too high on adrenaline to worry much about what that grin might mean.

“Ah, good,” it hisses, “ _You_ can pay for your blood’s betray—”

Armie’s blaster flies at his face before he gets another word in. Blue plasma melts the Trandoshan’s face as Rey glances over at her closest friend in surprise. His face is a strange mask of merciless and quiet fury. Neither of them blink as the Trandoshan’s body collapses forward, sliding into the pod with them. It’s hardly the first death she’s seen today. Probably won’t be the last, either.

The Trandoshan’s comm buzzes to life. “Jorrng! Ketwo! We need you in the upper levels!” Harsh, guttural Huttese words make her eyebrows raise. “They’re holding up our escape route! Black cloaks, helmets, not CSF, we need you now!”

Next to her, Armie huffs. “Well, I suppose we know where the Knights are. Seems they aren’t dead. _Yet._ ” 

He shoots her a significant look, but she juts her chin out at him, resolute despite the utter chaos.

The comms go off again before she can reply, echoing with a screeching hellfire of blaster shots and screaming. “Jorrng!! Ketwo! Where _are_ you? CSF has our backup pinned down— _tooska chai mani sleemo—_ you fucks, come _in!_ We— _”_ There’s more static and then a shrill of blasters that end the transmission.

“Mm, peace in the galaxy, indeed.” Armie sighs, gesturing flippantly at the Trandoshan’s corpse. “Excellent choice, getting CSF involved. _Clearly_ the least violent route. They do just solve all the galaxy’s problems, don’t they?”

“Oh, go shove a—”

A blaring loud voice interrupts her, blasting through the chamber. “Everybody _drop your weapons!”_

“Kriff, what now?” he mutters next to her, sounding exhausted by everything.

They glance at each other, Armie silently gesturing toward the edge of the pod. When Rey peeks over the edge, she wishes she hadn’t. Her stomach lurches. Displayed on every screen in the room is the sight of her grandfather in his repulsorpod, pressed to the back of his seat, his face gone entirely white at the weapons pointed at him. For someone normally so composed, so constantly the picture-perfect senator fighting for his cause, he looks terrified. Human.

The entire room seems to freeze and hold its breath. 

“You heard me,” the blaring voice says through a vocoder. “Now, drop your weapons. All of you—anyone not Crimson Dawn, drop them. Even you, up in the rafters!” As far as Rey can tell, nobody moves. Down on the floor, there’s a rousing murmur through the CSF officers left, but the screen catches her attention again, just as the barrel of a heavy blaster nudges at her grandfather. “Think I won’t?” the monster in her grandfather’s repulsorpod snaps. “We’re transmitting across the holonet, so tell me—what will your precious Republic do when they lose one of their most prominent senators, all because this planet’s security force wouldn’t listen to reason? Too bloodthirsty to have sense? Back off and drop your weapons or the Republic watches him die!”

From beside her, Armie whispers, “Rey, what the _fuck_ did you do, getting CSF involved?”

The question is one she’s already asked herself half a dozen times.

She worries at her bottom lip. Everything hurts. Her body, her head, her heart, and it’s only getting harder to ignore. All the terror and rage that’s bottled up in her keeps pushing to get out, but she swallows it down. In a hush, she asks, “Why him? Why keep him alive at all? They’ve already killed senators, there _must_ be a reason—”

“We can figure that out later,” Armie interrupts, but part of her already knows the answer.

For all that the Republic likes to think of its Senators as equally important, her grandfather is effectively the leader of the Centralists—losing him would be a blow the party may never recover from. Things always seem to come down to politics, but right now, while feeling her heart tear at the sight of someone threaten one of the only family members she has left, Rey couldn’t care less about politics. 

Maybe her grandfather sees her as a tool, a way to get a sympathy vote, a way to further his career, but…

But he’s her blood. 

There’s so much noise. Suddenly she wishes for the relative quiet that spooked her upon entering the chambers, because right now, there’s too much noise—the comm of the dead Trandoshan buzzing to life, the shouts of CSF officers from the floor, Armie’s muttering of ideas on how to get them out—but Rey blocks it all out while a plan spins in her mind. CSF might be grounded, might not be able to move without causing her grandfather’s death, but _she_ can. She glances over the rim of her repulsorpod as the Crimson Dawn member holding her grandfather hostage blabbers on about demands.

“ _You,”_ her grandfather seethes at the Crimson Dawn members around him, baring teeth. He’s visible on every viewscreen, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse and sharp around the edges. “You won’t get away with this. You’re the very scum I’ve been warning this galaxy about!”

She interrupts Armie to whisper, “We have to figure out which pod they’re in. Do you see them anywhere?”

From their vantage point it shouldn’t be impossible, but her searching is interrupted by a sickeningly loud crack—the butt of a weapon slamming into her grandfather’s shoulder, presumably to silence him.

She’ll murder the man who did it, she decides, right then and there. She’ll cut his throat, let him die slowly rather than give him the benefit of a quick blaster shot. She’ll steal the knives off the Trandoshan and watch him bleed, watch him— 

“There!” Armie blurts, pointing to a trio of pods beneath them. Her grandfather’s trademark cobalt robes catch her attention.

“Shut up!” the soon-to-be-dead hostage-taker shouts at her grandfather. “Shut _up._ This wasn’t the plan, it wasn’t—”

Without bothering to listen to more, Rey clicks her safety on and tucks her blaster into the wraps of her clothes, then grabs the knives off the dead Trandoshan. They slide into her belt as though they belong there. Much to Armie’s obvious horror, she vaults over the side of the pod with brief hesitation, not even giving him the chance to stop her. 

It’s a terrifying but quick drop to a pod below them, but her landing is so poor, the impact sends pain ripping up through her legs, knocking her breath out for a moment. A soft gasp sounds from inside the pod she’s jumped into—a cowering, hiding, unfamiliar senator she’s probably just scared the living piss out of. Wincing, Rey gives them an awkward nod that _might_ pass for sympathy, and then she ignores every instinct screaming at her to _shut up, go home, stay safe,_ and she leaps off _that_ pod’s edge, too.

The sound that comes from her mouth is almost a squawk as her feet hit the pod she’s aiming for—two pods away from her grandfather. It might have been better to aim directly for them, but she never would have made that jump. For the briefest moment she thinks she’s about to fall backward, and she wobbles at the edge of the pod while the Crimson Dawn members surrounding her grandfather seem too busy being stunned to bother shooting at her. Just as one of them moves to aim at her, she catches her balance, grabs at her blaster—still unwieldy in her hands—and she fires off a few shots, realizing at the last minute that she hasn’t exactly aimed and could very well strike her grandfather. The bolts go wild, veering too far off course to do more than clip one of the Crimson Dawn members in the shoulder. 

Before they can fire back, she ducks into the pod she’s landed in, dropping to the floor. Crimson light fills her view—bolts flying over her, their pressurized heat and light clawing along her cheeks like a sudden and intense sunburn. Rey sucks in a breath and squeezes her eyes shut, staying down while they fire a few more.

“Idiot,” she hisses at herself. “Utter _idiot.”_

She should have stayed home. Should have convinced Ben to stay with her and let the Knights go after Senator Organa on their own. Should have done anything to keep him and Armie far, _far_ from this chaos.

Below her, CSF officers on the ground are shouting orders at each other. Whether her decision to jump down was foolish, it might at least have distracted Crimson Dawn enough to let CSF take action.

 _Gods,_ she can’t help but wonder where Ben is. 

Cracking her eyes open, Rey spots another person in the pod she’s hiding in—a young woman in an ornamental headdress and dark azure robes, slumped against the control panel, the hole in her back cauterized and blackened. She’s long dead, and painfully young. Younger than Rey, easily. Too young to be a dead senator.

“Who are you?” a voice demands from her grandfather’s repulsorpod, driving in the fact that it’s too late to take any of this back. “You, in that pod! Answer me!” There’s a loud winding noise and then several seconds of heavy fire, ratcheting and hammering against the outer edge of her pod, punching holes in the glass viewscreen. Her pod whines and wavers in midair, not designed to handle such damage, but it doesn’t drop. The person—the same one that’s probably holding her grandfather at blaster-point—shouts, “Answer me! You with CSF? Who hired you?!”

She pushes further against the side of the pod, trying to shrink down to avoid being spotted. At the break in their blaster fire, she takes a deep, steadying breath, and reaches up with her own blaster. It’s impossible to see them while keeping her head under the protective shielding the pod offers, but she hopes for the best and fires a few times. Nothing hits, judging by the lack of screams or shouts. Annoyingly, there’s only derisive laughter from the Crimson Dawn members.

They fire on her again, and she curses—a rough _rat-tat-tat_ punches against her pod. Rey can’t help her yelp as the whole pod slants in a severe incline, the blaster shot damaging repulsor functionality on one side. _Kriff._ It’d be a hell of a story, a terrible ending if _this_ is how she goes. Not while being the hero, not while doing the _right thing,_ but thanks to her own stupid choices. 

The pod lurches more, and Rey has to drop her blaster to clutch at a guardrail with both hands just to avoid a deathly fall to the floor of the chambers. Her blaster tumbles, and with it, the corpse of the young senator, falling like a useless, broken doll. The wet _thump_ and bone-cracking of the body hitting the ground is a sickening sound.

“ _E chu ta!_ ” a voice says through a vocoder, punctuating the swear. “No way she survived that.”

Rey blinks, realizing they assumed the dead senator’s body was _hers._ Maybe it’s morbid to be thankful, but it’s an unexpected advantage.

Flaring fire flickers and burns in her arms as she tries to pull herself up. The repulsorpod now hangs almost perpendicular to the floor, and luckily, nobody seems to have noticed her flailing yet. She swings her dangling feet, the flats of her soles finding purchase along the surface of the pod. There’s another slam of metal against flesh, followed by a cry from her grandfather, but the sound is cut short by a blaster shot.

Her heart stops for a second until she hears her grandfather’s wheeze.

“You conniving old _fuck,”_ the hostage-taker shouts, sounding panicked, “Call CSF off! Call them off!”

Her grandfather wheezes again, getting out the word, “Pathetic.”

There’s an all-too familiar sneer to his voice, and she finds herself oddly prideful of his spiteful resistance, making something flare in her chest. With a gasp of pain and a desperate instinct to _hurt,_ Rey pulls herself up into the upper edge of her pod. It seems impossible, maybe _should_ be impossible, but somehow she makes it up to the top of her dying repulsorpod.

The Crimson Dawn members standing around her grandfather spot her, one by one. Eyes widen in her direction, just as she leaps off her pod, reaching for the knives she has tucked into her belt. The one holding a blaster to her grandfather swings the weapon around to aim for her, but just before they fill her with plasma, a brilliant crimson bolt slams into the weapon, shattering it to pieces and likely saving her life. Rey doesn’t question it. Her feet slam down onto the pod next to them, and with a running jump, she lands again, gasping with more shooting pain in her legs.

She doesn’t have time to be in pain. She snarls and throws herself in, knives first, at the Crimson Dawn member beside her grandfather, slicing through the man as he blocks her knife with his arm. The knife slices through his leathers and then _flesh_ like it’s butter. The man cries out, recoiling, but Rey lunges in, feeling a slick spray of blood hit her face as she cuts into him again.

Her first victim falls backward, tripping over himself while trying to get away from her, and Rey advances, her chest heaving with every breath. She nearly falls onto him as she shoves a knife deep into the man’s stomach, pressing the hilt to flesh, to the tune of a stretched-out scream. There’s a terrible gurgling sound that comes from his throat as she rips the knife out, only to let it bury itself in him again.

He—whoever he is—threatened her _family._ Put her in danger, had the utter gall to put her grandfather in danger, and something wicked in her croons at the last shuddering breath that leaves the man’s body.

Before she can drive another knife in, someone grabs her arm, tugging her up to her feet. She reacts on instinct, tearing her other knife from the dead criminal’s gut as she twists around and jams it into the side of whoever dared to grab her, screeching, “How dare you!”

The blade slides through protective gear, slicing through flesh and drawing a vicious hiss from the person as they let her go, her knife still deep in their side. Rey spins toward them, bringing up her remaining knife to block whatever attack might come at her.

Her mouth falls open, her eyes widening at the familiar shining black helmet. “ _Ben?_ Oh my gods— _”_

He’s still in his inhuman helmet, still in that black cape, clutching at his side. The voice modulator in his helmet makes his gasping sound odd and almost unrecognizable, but she helps catch him when he wavers on his feet. She squeezes an arm around the uninjured side of him, helping hold him upright.

“You— you _stabbed_ me,” he grinds out. “What the _fuck,_ Rey? Why— _kriff that hurts_ —why are you here?”

Another sound comes from the modulator—a whine, maybe, and Ben presses a hand to his helmet, turning to the side as if he’s trying to listen to something. After a moment he blurts, “Fuck off, Ap’lek. You try getting stabbed, we’ll see if you _walk it off.”_

If she’s not imaging it, there’s laughter through the other end of his comm, and Ben growls, “Keep laughing, and I’ll let her stab _you._ ”

Directing his attention back to her, Ben bristles away from her hold and snaps, “Check on your grandfather, I’ll be fine.”

Right, _kriff._ She turns, rushing to her grandfather, finding him slumped in his seat but still breathing. His eyes narrow at her, and he clutches his chest.

“Rey,” her grandfather rasps, gesturing with a shaky hand to the side of the pod, “The feed.”

Oh, gods. The feed. Glancing up, Rey finds her own face on every viewscreen. Her hair is a loose mess of waves, her arm wraps tattered but holding on, her teeth bared, her face, neck, and hands splashed with drying blood. A nightmarish vision in black and red.

After what feels like hours of her staring, Ben moves into view, blocking her from the display. The way he moves is awkward, and she takes a moment to realize he’s left her knife in his side. Probably to reduce how much it bleeds.

“Come on,” Ben urges, sounding faint. He gestures vaguely to something behind her. “CSF is coming.”

As he tugs at her arm, she wrenches it out of his grasp. “No. I’m not leaving him.”

“You just stabbed someone on live holo,” Ben snaps. “CSF is coming this way. You really think you should be hanging around Senator Palpatine right now? They’ll arrest us _both._ ”

“Wha— I _saved_ him!” she argues, outraged at whatever Ben might be implying.

He snorts and doesn’t miss a beat as he points his gun to the side and fires at the pod’s control panel. Sparks fly as the plasma bolt fries the system. All the viewscreens go static.

“I’m sure that’s what CSF will think when they find you standing over him, wearing _that_ and covered in blood,” Ben mutters sarcastically. “I’m _sure_ they’ll take one look at you and assume you’re with the good guys.” Even if she can’t hear his real voice or see his face, it’s obvious he’s pissed and growing more and more agitated as the shouts of CSF officers grow closer. “They’ll be here any minute, and they’ll take care of him. We don’t have time for this. It’s hard enough keeping you alive _outside_ of a war zone, so you’ll listen to me whether you like it or not.”

Chatter comes across the comm in his helmet, but she doesn’t catch any of it before Ben snarls and curses in response, then orders, “Send backup our way. CSF’s all over the place—we’ll need help getting out of here. I’ve got some extra baggage I need to deal with.”

“I’m _not_ going anywhere,” she argues. “Look at him! He’s bleeding, he needs medical attention! I can help, I can tell CSF—” 

With a shake of his head, Ben steps in closer, interrupting with, “You really don’t like to make my job easy, do you?”

Rey scowls at him just before he bends down and swoops her up into his arms so quickly it knocks the breath out of her. “Hey! Put me down!”

He puts one foot on the edge of the pod, gasping in pain. “Don’t you _dare_ make more trouble for me,” he snaps from behind his mask. “Shut up and hold on.”

It hits her then, what he plans to do from dozens of stories above the chamber’s floor.

“No, wait—”

It’s clear he won’t, though, so she grips his shoulder and squeezes her eyes shut, muttering a litany of swears when he jumps. Her stomach drops out from under her and she screams until their fall… slows?

Ben snorts again, just as they come to a stop in mid-air and then reverse direction. Confused, Rey looks around and then up, groaning as she spots the glint of a metallic cable in the air above them, connected to a winching mechanism in Ben’s belt.

“You asshole, you could have warned me!”

His voice comes out half-amused and half-accusatory. “You _stabbed_ me. This seemed like the least I could do.”

“I didn’t know it was you!”

“Well, that makes the knife in my side feel better, thanks!”

Rey has to hold back a laugh at that, and Ben adds, this time softer, “Your grandfather will be fine, look.” He nods down to the repulsorpod where CSF agents are already helping her grandfather to his feet, and she sighs in relief, letting a bit of the tension leave her.

Just then, they pass the pod with the dead Trandoshan, and a new, sudden concern spikes in her chest. “Wait, what about Armie? I left him—”

“He’s with the others,” Ben interrupts. “When you decided to be a hero, he got on our comms and yelled until we agreed to come save you and Senator Palpatine, because saving reckless _idiots_ is definitely part of the Knights of Ren mission statement.” He shakes his head at the disaster below them. “Kriffing CSF, how the hell did they even get here? What a fucking mess.”

She bites her mouth closed and rests her temple against Ben’s shoulder. Unless she’s imagining things, his thumb caresses over her side.

Moments later, they arrive at the top of the Senate Chamber, levels above even the topmost pod. She’s never been in the levels above the chamber, but that’s where they’re headed—there’s an opening in the ceiling, freshly cut with what she can only assume was a welding flame. They ascend through the hole, both staying quiet, and slide up into a lush, decorated hallway. Paintings and flowers line the walls every few feet. It’s an odd disconnect from the death and mayhem below.

Rey tenses as she notices the people surrounding them, but sighs when she sees who, exactly, is waiting as their feet touch down onto the carpet.

Ap’lek is the first to speak. “You made it,” he nods, coming forward to unlatch them from the line. Armie stands behind him, the worry in his expression evident. “You done flirting, or am I going to follow up on Miss Palpatine’s job offer?”

“Job offer?” she repeats. “What job—”

“Remember when you hired Ap’lek to take me out?” Ben interrupts, grimacing as he lifts the helmet off his head. Looking over to Ap’lek, he huffs, “I’m guessing she’ll do the job herself, didn’t you notice the knife?”

Rey falls quiet, her eyes guiltily locking on the hilt in his side.

Unsurprisingly, Ap’lek laughs.

\--*--

Rey can’t help but be thankful he was wearing all black. Before he removed his tunic, the color made the blood a little harder to notice, even as it soaked the dark fabric of his tunic. It made the flood of guilt just the _tiniest_ bit easier to manage, but that’s hardly the case now. His stained tunic is tossed aside now, and once Ap’lek slides the knife out of him—her breath catches at the whimpering sound Ben makes—she presses her hands to the wound at his bare abdomen, swallowing at the hot stickiness she finds there. 

“Keep pressure on it,” Ap’lek instructs gruffly.

The only sign that he’s in pain is his paled face and his shorter breaths. Aside from that, most people would look at him and assume he’s simply in a terrible mood. They might not notice the sweat beading at his forehead, the shallow breathing, the way he’s working his jaw. She notices, though.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he murmurs. Him trying to comfort her only makes things worse. The idea that he might be _fine_ would be laughable if her heart wasn’t in her throat.

Rey’s not sure whose office they’re in, but they ducked into the first one that was open. If the office’s owner is still alive—something that’s hardly a guarantee—they’ll come back to quite a mess whenever they return. Ben’s half-sitting on, half-leaning against their desk, leaving an unintentional bloody handprint on the surface as he braces himself. She stands between his legs, eyes wide as she stares at and puts pressure on the wounds she caused.

From where he’s guarding the door, Armie asks, “How’s he doing?”

She winces, pressing harder at the spot just above the top of his trousers, and sniffles when she hears Ben’s sharp intake of breath. Tears prick at her eyes. Ben answers for her, his voice thin and dry, “I’ve been better. Maybe it would help if you explained how _I promise we’ll stay at the apartment_ turned into Rey accidentally stabbing me.”

Ap’lek gives another laugh, and Rey’s attention snaps to him. “If you think this is so funny,” she grinds out, “ _Leave.”_

The Knight tilts his head at her, and Ben grimaces. “Rey, relax. I’ll be fine.” He huffs, and it turns into a pained groan. “Kriff,” he breathes, staring down at where she’s desperately pressing palms against him. “At least you have poor aim. I think we’d know by now if you hit something important. Maybe if we had bacta—”

“Rey, check the room,” Armie interrupts. “See if there’s a med-kit. I think they’re standard issue, in case of emergencies.” With another look around the hallway outside, he slides the door shut and locks it. The wince is audible as he says, “Actually, no. Keep pressure on, I’ll look myself. That… that’s a lot of blood.”

She keeps pressure on, stepping even closer until Ben leans forward a little and nuzzles his face into her hair, offering her comfort she doesn’t deserve. What’s worse is, she can’t figure out where to look. Looking at Ben’s face reminds her of how pale he is, looking at his bare abdomen reminds her of the blood she can’t forget anyway, not while it’s hot and sticky on her hands. She lets her forehead rest against his shoulder while she shudders.

Armie and Ap’lek shuffle through drawers and push aside decorations on a bookshelf while they look for anything that might help, but Ben acts as though they’re alone, even if it’s just for a moment. Quietly, he murmurs, “You should have stayed home. Do you know how it felt, realizing you’d come here? Gods, when Hux came over the comms yelling about us needing to help you… I’m not sure I’ve ever been so panicked. It felt…” His words trail off, and he shrugs helplessly.

“Did it feel like getting stabbed in the gut?” Ap’lek asks from behind her, and while she sighs tiredly, Ben snorts.

“Kriff,” he says again in a breathless voice. “Don’t make me laugh. That hurts.”

She can feel the wound pulse under her hands. She blinks away tears, whispering again, “I’m so sorry. I just reacted, I never would have done it on purpose, I—”

It’s almost a relief when Armie interrupts. “Found one. It’s ancient.” He drops a small box onto the desk next to Ben while Ap’lek moves to lean against the door to the hallway. “Looks like the senator who uses this office hasn’t bothered to keep anything but the basics, but a few bacta patches should work as a temporary fix.” He frowns over at her, nudging her out of the way, and when he’s standing directly in front of Ben, he sighs. “Did it go all the way through?” he asks, as though patching up stab wounds is a normal part of his day.

Ben shakes his head, then leans back further, bracing himself on hands planted on the desk behind him. She stands to the side, feeling an increasing confusion at the casualness with which Armie pops open the med-kit and starts cleaning the wound with a little wet cloth he takes out of a sealed packet.

Frowning, she asks, “Do you… do this often?”

“Yes,” Armie replies sarcastically. “Patching accidental stabbing victims is my favorite hobby.”

Ben clears his throat. “So. Do either of you feel like explaining what you’re doing here?” He gestures down at his abdomen. “Seems like the least you could do.”

“Well, I may as well have been brought here at blaster-point,” Armie mutters. Sharing a _look_ with Ben, who rolls his eyes like he’s not at all surprised, Armie explains, “Rey was coming here one way or another. I thought accompanying her was the best way to keep everyone safe.”

Looking pointedly at where Armie’s plastering bacta patches on his abdomen, Ben asks, “Safe? Really? Funny, I thought I saw her running around with a set of knives. At least it _feels_ like she was running around with knives. You couldn’t have locked her in her bedroom? Don’t you think that might have been easier?” He pauses, narrowing his eyes. “You realize how easy it is to pick her up and lock a door, don’t you?”

“That’s enough, I’m _right_ here,” Rey finally blurts, crossing her arms over her chest. “What— what is this?” She gestures between the two of them. “What, suddenly you get along? Since when?”

“Maybe since _Hux_ isn’t the one who stabbed me,” Ben snaps back, making her fall silent. After a long moment of silence, during which it becomes glaringly obvious they have no intention of explaining why they seem to agree on everything, Ben sighs. “Fine. I guess since you’re both already here, the _why_ doesn’t matter, though it’s lucky you arrived when you did. Another ten minutes and we wouldn’t have been in the chambers—we would have missed you.”

“Oh?” Armie asks.

“Mm. We were on our way out when you arrived—we’d confirmed my mother wasn’t in the room.” He pauses, grimacing, and says lowly, “Plenty of the senators were already dead when we got into the senate chambers, but we couldn’t tell what Crimson Dawn was trying to do, so we split up. A few of us stayed in the chambers to find my mother and get her out, and the rest started taking out Crimson Dawn members who were blocking doors. I think some senators had already gotten out, but once we confirmed my mother wasn’t in there, we helped get some doors unblocked to evacuate more of them. But then…” he shakes his head, then runs a hand through his messy hair. “Gods, when CSF showed up it was like someone dropped a bomb. Things got _much_ worse.”

There’s a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach when Armie glances over at her.

“Crimson Dawn started fighting them,” Ben explains, oblivious to the turmoil churning inside her. “And it seemed like people—senators and their staff—were getting caught in the crossfire. Since my mother wasn’t among the dead, we’ve assumed she and her team are still hiding elsewhere. CSF… kriff, they blocked a couple of the exits and just started shooting.”

Rey swallows, but before she can speak, a static-y gruff voice sounds out from Ben’s pocket. 

“Solo, we’re out of the chambers,” someone reports, their words crackling a little over the com. “What’s your location?”

Without moving much, Ben digs into the pocket of his trousers, drawing out a comlink. He sucks in a breath as Armie finishes up his work on the wounds, and replies thickly into the device, “We’re in an office. Meet us here, it’s room—” Pausing, he asks, “Do any of you know which office this is?”

“349-B,” Ap’lek answers, tilting his head toward the little sign by the door.

Ben nods. “Trudgen, did you get that?”

“Got it,” the Knight confirms. “Heading there. Kuruk’s found a guy, name’s Dameron? Says he knows where your mother is, he’s been looking for a way out, but we’re gonna have to bring you to him. He doesn’t trust us. Guy thought we were Crimson Dawn, and it didn’t get much better when I corrected him.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ben grimaces. “I think it’s safe to assume my mother didn’t tell her staff who she called in for help. I’ll talk to him, but yeah, come meet us here. I’ve got a job for you.”

“On my way.”

The connection clicks off, and Ben lets out a sigh of relief. He slides off the desk, gingerly patting at his stomach, and gives Armie a grateful nod. He shudders as he tugs the blood-soaked tunic back over his head, and Rey helps pull it down over the bacta patches. 

So many negative, awful feelings are swirling inside her, trying to pull her under, and for a moment—as she stares at the patched wound at his side—she wonders if it might be easier if she let them drown her. Maybe it would be easier to give in, break down, find a pleasant corner to collapse in and cry or scream or… whatever. She barely notices that she’s wavering on her feet, so close to giving in to the sudden overwhelming wave of _everything_ coursing through her system, but Ben must be able to tell. He grasps her elbow gently, his hand sliding to her upper arm.

Her gaze, full of unshed tears, cuts to his.

“Look,” Ben murmurs to her, “When Trudgen gets here I need you to go with him.” He looks to Armie and Ap'lek, saying, “I could use your help, though, if you’re both willing. If Trudgen can get Rey home, would you two stick around?”

Rey blinks, her guilt slowly replaced by anger. “What? Wait, what makes you think I’m going anywhere?”

Both Ben and Armie give her tired looks, but it’s not fair. Not that she expects life to be fair—she’s long since learned that lesson—but if she goes home to shower and relax with a holovid, it’ll be impossible to make up for the amount of terrible things she’s caused by showing up.

 _Deaths,_ she reminds herself. _Deaths._ That’s what she’s caused. It’s already impossible to forget, and her mind seems to want to keep reminding her, anyway.

“You’re welcome to threaten Trudgen,” Ben says finally, “but if he’s getting paid to get you home, he’s just as likely to toss you over his shoulder and carry you onto a speeder as I am. I can appreciate that you wanted to help, but you being here isn’t helping. I know it wasn’t your intention, but—”

There’s a flurry of rage in her chest that she keeps locked down, even as someone raps on the office door. Armie joins Ap’lek by it, maybe to be ready just in case the person knocking isn’t who they expect… though it’s probably just so he can avoid her wrath.

“But I’m already here,” she points out. “Maybe I shouldn’t have shown up at all, but since I’m already here, it makes little sense to lose two people—me _and_ your Knight—just because you’re insisting on not having me here. I know I don’t have much experience with this, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be helpful.”

For a long moment, Ben doesn’t reply. He quirks a brow at her, like he thinks she’s an absolute moron. As if he’s admitting something massive, he takes in a breath, and says, “You not having experience with fighting has nothing to do with why I don’t want you here.” 

“So what is it, then?” she snaps. “Are you mad at me? I get it, I hurt you, but it wasn’t on purpose. None of this was on purpose. I never would have left home if I’d known, but do I need to keep apologizing? Because, _believe me,_ I’m sorry. Just let me help. I’m here, I can be useful.”

The look he gives her is surprisingly soft considering that she’s covered in the blood of someone she stabbed to death. At that thought, she’s hit with the stunning realization that some of the worst things she’s done since leaving home were very much _on purpose._ Quietly, while she’s still stunned for a reason he’s oblivious to, Ben asks, “Has it occurred to you that I might be worried for your safety? Have you considered that you being here might make me a mess? You know why you got a shot in on me? When I landed on that repulsorpod, I saw the blood all over you and I thought it might be _yours,_ and I froze.”

“I— I did that,” she breathes, staring right through the man in front of her. She _stabbed_ someone, felt them die, and kept going until Ben stopped her. She _did that._ “That was me.”

The door slides open, catching both her and Ben’s attention, and a stranger cloaked in head-to-toe black with a hood pulled low over their face, steps in, sharing a nod with Ap’lek. It’s impossible to tell if they’re wearing a mask under the hood, but they stay silent.

“It’s fine,” Ben promises, giving her a sad smile. He must have thought she was talking to him. “Just let Trudgen take you home.”

Conflict is a terrible thing to feel. It’s like being ripped apart on the inside. Rey’s stuck between feeling so guilty that she wants to insist she stay and somehow fix things, and feeling boiling rage at the never-ending miserableness that is everyone treating her like she’s a child. She’s _not_ a child—but when her mind hits that argument, she loops back around to the fact that a child wouldn’t be nearly so dangerous… and there’s the guilt again. The only thing she seems to be able to settle on is that she’s not leaving.

If the result is the same and her choice is between guilt and anger, it’s no choice at all. One will rip her apart. The other… she’s not sure about.

As Ben squeezes her hand and then grabs his helmet, stepping toward the door like he’s going to leave, her feelings swell to fury. He gestures back to her, talking to Trudgen, but her blood is pounding in her ears. She doesn’t even hear what’s said before she snaps, “ _No.”_

Three sets of eyes—and a fourth, probably, but she can’t see them under the hood—snap to her.

“No,” she says firmly. “No, I’m not going anywhere.”

Armie sighs, glancing back to Trudgen, and _how dare they?_ How dare they act like they get to make her decisions? She wants to snarl at them, wants to— 

“Fine, don’t get her home,” Ben shrugs. “Just keep her here. Lock yourselves inside this room, we’ll contact you when we get my mother out of the building safely and you can meet us at the speeder. I doubt anyone will even be looking for you, and if they are, the odds of them checking here are slim.”

“You’d really lock me in here,” she breathes, her eyes wide. She’s almost saying it just to herself—stunned and furious that they’re _so_ determined to keep her in a cage. “You’d really do that, even after what I just did out there, in the Senate Chambers? Haven’t I just proven I’m capable?”

“What you’ve proven,” Armie corrects, “Is that you’re all-too happy to risk your own life.”

The boiling magma bubbles up, choking her and flushing her face red as she watches Ap'lek, Armie, and Ben leave before she can charge after them—with a press of a button, Trudgen slides the door close. The locking mechanism hisses and clicks into place. The silence that follows is the worst part. The Knight she’s left alone with does nothing to introduce himself, doesn’t even give her the courtesy of a sympathetic nod or smile, _nothing_ to even pretend there’s another being sharing the room with him. But how many jailers care to sympathize with their prisoner?

She snarls at nothing. The knight doesn’t react, and only keeps his back against the door, blocking her exit. She advances, stepping forward across the thickly carpeted office until she’s right in front of him.

“Let me out.”

Nothing but a disdainful huff.

“You have ten seconds to step aside and open this door,” she states, as calmly as possible.

Her chest heaves when Trudgen doesn’t respond or move. It’s not quite anger, though that’s present—almost constantly, now. It’s something that’s almost worse. Something that turns her breaths quick and shallow as the feeling of being caged sinks in.

When she asks again, her voice wavers. “Please let me out.”

No response, and no other exit. With a sudden, overwhelming sense of dread, she checks again behind her and confirms this isn’t one of the offices that has its own speeder pad and private exit. She grips the knives strapped to her sides, almost for comfort. The choking fury rising in her throat starts to feel a lot more like nausea, and it only worsens when she takes another look at the Knight—he’s a little taller than Ben, imposing in a terrifying way that Ben isn’t.

She slides the knives out, holding them in front of her, like she might need to defend herself.

“ _Move._ You need to let me out of here,” she urges. Flattening her lips, she juts out her jaw and tries to sound more commanding than afraid. “I mean it. I’m getting out of this room one way or another. All you need to do is step aside.”

Her hands shake, and she grips the handles of the knives like they’re lifelines.

Trudgen tilts his head at her, silent as always. Then he does the unexpected. Rather than stepping aside or even just saying _no,_ he takes a step forward. She takes a quick step back, but he just advances again and again—whether it’s intimidation or a game or some strange attempt to test her or— or whatever it is, he’s got seconds because she _can’t, she can’t—there are always two ways out, there has to be another way, there must be, there has to be._

Five.

She can’t breathe. It’ll be… she can’t… 

The walls close more and more with each step away from the door.

Four.

Someone whispers, “Please,” and it must be her, but— 

All she can hear is her own blood thudding in her ears.

Three.

The lightheadedness kicks in. There’s a brief moment, either hours or milliseconds long, where she has a choice. 

Maybe it’s a defense mechanism. Maybe it’s a reflex. Maybe it’s an accident or a mistake. 

Two.

Either way, she finds the rage and latches on. It might be the only thing keeping her together.

_One._

Digging her heels in, she _reacts._

She howls at him and thrusts forward. The knives slide in, feeling like extensions of herself. She barely notices the effort it takes to push them all the way in. Her breath comes out in a relieved shudder as she grips the handles and _twists_. Trudgen doubles over, and she finally feels safe at the sight of the knife guards pressed against the abdomen of a body. For a long moment—ages, it feels like—she stares down, wide-eyed, even as he collapses with a groan when she pulls the knives out.

An unfamiliar, wicked relief and glee settle inside her.

The Knight still doesn’t speak, doesn’t even seem to have the strength to reach for his fallen comlink. The last breath she hears is a shaky, rasping one.

“I’m done,” she whispers to the dying, or possibly dead, knight… but mostly to herself. “I’m done being a little bird. I’m done living in a cage.”

The fear seeps away as blood seeps into the carpet. So does the worry and the guilt, and the urge to cry. As it flows out of her, only one thing is left behind. Rage. Blinding, beautiful rage. Her blood feels like it’s burning her from the inside out, there’s a pounding in her ears, and as terrible as it all sounds, she feels something unfamiliar and strange and incredible, maybe for the first time since leaving Jakku.

_Free._

\--*--

As she leaves the office, her pace grows relaxed, even more so as she looks down at the knives still in her hands. They’re covered in the dried blood of more than one being now, menacing and… possibly the only reason she’s still alive. She takes a deep breath in, continuing in an aimless path. The hallway she’s in is unfamiliar, but nobody’s following her, nobody’s telling her what to do. Nobody’s keeping her locked away. Nobody’s telling her it’s not safe. The concerns are there—for Armie, Ben, her grandfather—but she’s too overtaken by the anger and frustration that comes with being a prisoner of all three.

It takes four turns and a few seemingly never-ending hallways before she runs into another person, not that she was particularly looking for anyone. They’re smart enough to keep their distance as they meet her face to face, a relieved-looking Lieutenant Divo, whose shoulders sag upon seeing her. 

“Miss Palpatine?” the man sighs. “What a relief. I heard someone and thought you might be one of those—”

That’s the moment he must notice the knives in her hands. His own hands raise shakily, and he takes a slow step back. Blinking, Rey looks down at the weapons. They’re still covered in drying blood, as are her hands, but it takes half a minute for her to realize that’s probably a terrifying sight for the man. She huffs an awkward humorless laugh, holding them down at her sides rather than out in front of her and ready to kill again.

“Self defense,” she mutters, glancing back up to Divo. “Had… someone chasing me.”

Divo nods, but still seems leery. Something in her is quite pleased at that—maybe she doesn’t mind being feared.

“Do you know where my grandfather is?”

“Yes, of course,” he blurts. He looks down at the knives at her sides, his mouth flattening as he adds, “Follow me.”

It turns out, she was only a minute’s walk away, and when Divo raps on the well-guarded door to her grandfather’s office, Rey’s flooded with relief. Her last memory of her grandfather was one that involved blood and rising bruises, but it seems Ben was right—CSF got him to safety. 

The door slides open. She tucks her knives away and slips inside, finding only her grandfather. His office is styled just like his apartment. Long scarlet curtains ready to block out sunlight, a bare but imposing desk ready for meetings, a beautifully upholstered set of chairs and a couch ready for more informal meetings. Not a single personal item to suggest this office belongs to a specific person rather than being for general use. 

Her grandfather is on his couch, and somehow, he’s sitting with the perfect posture of someone who hasn’t recently been beaten. The only sign that he’s just suffered through something terrible is the set of bacta patches over his paled face. Someone’s cleaned him up. He offers her a slight smile upon seeing her, and for a moment, she only stares at him before taking a seat on the couch next to him.

There’s a surge of something in her chest. Fondness, maybe. It’s strange—she _should_ be angry, but a large part of her is too attached to the notion that he’s her family, her blood. And he’s _okay._ He’s _alive._

“You’re okay,” she breathes. “They got you out?”

Her grandfather nods, and it’s such a shock to see him wince, to see him be so human. His voice is faint, but he replies, “My security force performed well. It’s a very lucky thing they arrived when they did.”

Rey frowns, nearly holding her breath, hoping her lingering guilt is misplaced. “Them showing up didn’t… didn’t make things worse?”

“Worse?” her grandfather repeats in disbelief. “My dear, how could that have things have been worse?” He reaches out, and her eyes go wide at the way his hand settles over hers, despite the dried blood. “The security force is the only reason the entire senate wasn’t slaughtered. They—"

“I called them,” she interrupts, her voice feeling robotic.

He seems unsurprised. “My dear,” he says, smiling. “You did wonderfully.”

Something feels off about that as her fury fades. Something about it seems untrue. Her presence caused more deaths, she thinks. _Wonderfully_ may have been accurate if she’d gotten in and stolen away her grandfather, leaving others to whatever their fates may be. _Wonderfully_ doesn’t describe— 

“Those monsters had blood on their hands,” her grandfather murmurs. “Don’t blame yourself for their deaths. They were criminals. They deserved their fate.”

Her eyes flick down. She has blood on _her_ hands, too, and it doesn’t feel _wonderful._

Before she can reply or change the subject, there’s a rap at the door, and it slides open to reveal Lieutenant Divo, back again. Nervously, he announces, “I’m sorry, sir, my officers haven’t located it.” 

Rey’s attention jerks to him. “Haven’t located _what?”_

Divo hesitates to answer, but her grandfather explains, “I’ve asked the Lieutenant to have his men search for the item those criminals were searching for. We assume it must be something quite important since they were willing to commit such atrocities for it.” He shakes his head sadly. “Do you have updates on the rest of the senate, Lieutenant?” 

“We’re getting in contact with survivors now. There are no new deaths to report, but…” Divo pauses. “But Senator Organa has been injured, sir. My officer just informed me. The criminals were assisting her and my officer was aiming for one of them, thinking he was trying to assault the senator. Unfortunately, my officer missed and struck Senator Organa.”

Her heart drops. “Is she okay? And is… is the man okay? The one who was helping her?” 

Confused, Divo narrows his eyes at her. “Whether or not he was assisting the senator, he and his associates killed many of my officers. His safety is not my priority, nor is his life.” 

“That might be Ben,” she blurts, looking to her grandfather. “Ben and Armie went to find Senator Organa. You _can’t_ let them hurt Ben. He just came to help his mother.” 

Senator Palpatine pauses. “Divo, Armitage Hux is not to be injured, nor arrested. Similarly, Ben Solo is in my employ as a bodyguard. If you’ve caught either of them, I will handle their trespasses.” 

“But Senator—” 

Palpatine gives him a chilling look, one cold enough to make even _Rey_ bristle. “If either man dies, you’ll be displeased with my reaction.” 

After a moment, Divo nods. “Yes, sir.” 

The man turns and walks out, talking into a comm, but Rey doesn’t catch what’s said before her grandfather leans forward, asking quietly, “Am I misunderstanding, or was that Ben in my repulsorpod? My dear, are you suggesting the Knights of Ren were present today to _help?_ That’s… unexpected. I’m aware of your bodyguard’s past with them, but when I hired him, I was informed that was in the past, as were his ties to his family.”

His expression turns deeply concerned, and it doesn’t improve when she reassures, “He’s not part of the Knights anymore, but…”

“You can tell me, dear.” Softly he adds, “I’m proud of you, Rey. I’m not pleased you came here today, I would have preferred you stay safe, but I’m proud of you. I’ll do whatever I can to assure Ben Solo’s safety, but I need to know what’s happened.” 

It sounds a little like a trade. Like Ben’s safety depends on her telling her grandfather the truth. Despite the lingering sense that she shouldn’t tell him, she nods.

“Ben’s involvement with them _is_ very much in the past. He left them years ago. He’s only working with them today to help his mother. She got him on the comms, just after the coup was announced on the news, and asked him to hire the Knights to rescue her. She was desperate, was even…” Rey pauses, hit with unexpected emotion. With a sniff, she finishes with, “Senator Organa was even saying goodbye, just in case.”

Palpatine sighs and pats her hand in a comforting way she’s always longed for.

“That must have been very upsetting,” he whispers. “Senator Organa can’t be blamed, of course, for relying on such people. Any person would in such a terrible situation.”

Relief floods in, even more so as her grandfather squeezes her hand, then slowly gets to his feet with an achy groan. “Now, come with me,” he says, sounding like he plans to fix all her problems. “Let’s go get Armitage and that bodyguard of yours before they get themselves into more trouble.”

Her eyes flutter closed, and she lets out a long breath. “Thank you, grandfather.”

Maybe she can’t rely on him for constant warmth and fondness, maybe she can’t expect regular dinners and visiting, but maybe _this_ is enough—the promise that he can solve problems.

“Of course, dear.”

She stands, planning to follow him, but he pauses before he arrives at the door and turns back to her.

“Perhaps,” he starts, “Perhaps, once we leave, and you get…” his gaze flicks to her bloodied hands and forearms, “Cleaned up… perhaps we could discuss you taking on a role in my campaign, as you once suggested. And my dear, I’m sure you’ve had a terrible day, but if it isn’t too much trouble, perhaps we could discuss it over dinner.”

For the briefest moment, she thinks she might cry. Her wide eyes wander his bruised and patched-up face, searching for any sign that he might not mean it, but she finds nothing but genuine fondness.

It takes another minute for what he’s offering her to sink in. _Freedom. Family. Purpose._

Everything she’s wanted.

“Yes,” she breathes, her voice shaking. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

\--*--

Hours later, wind whips around Monument Plaza, billowing her black cloak into something intimidating and dramatic, an unplanned match to that of her bodyguard’s. The two of them stand apart from her grandfather, behind him and to the side of his makeshift podium. This statement for the press was decided so last-minute, she didn’t even have time to wash her hands of the blood, or shower off the grime. She tucks her hands further under her cloak, hoping nobody notices. The thought of ever returning to the Senate Building, even just for the convenience of a fresher in which she could wash her hands, is nauseating. They just finally made it out. She never wants to go back.

“The criminal organization known as Crimson Dawn,” her grandfather begins, his voice still a little harsh around the edges, “has terrorized this great galaxy for too long. I wish I could say I was incorrect about the threat they and others present, but as today’s events have made abundantly clear, our way of life is actively being threatened.”

From behind her, Ben mutters something, but she doesn’t catch it. There’s a twinge in her chest at how close, and yet, how far he is.

Her grandfather gives a sad, subtle shake of his head—a genuine one, she thinks, and she resolves to focus on him and his speech rather than her bodyguard… rather than the too-recent memory of seeing her bodyguard on his knees in the Senate Chambers, begging them to help his mother.

That will haunt her nightmares.

Rey turns her attention back to her grandfather, swallowing down the ache.

“While we mourn the recent loss of so many senators and senatorial staff members, I urge my fellow remaining senators to remember that the threats we face are will not disappear. As such, I am requesting the senate move up the decisive vote regarding my proposed Military Creation Act.”

There’s a sudden outburst from the crowd of journalists and reporters—a crowd her grandfather didn’t have time to hand-pick. Even so, the vast majority seems to support his cause.

One speaks out, and when she sees him, Rey’s relieved to find he’s alive.

“Senator Palpatine,” Poe Dameron calls out. “What are your thoughts on the rumors that a majority of senators who have been reported dead opposed this act, and your campaign?”

Her grandfather doesn’t miss a beat. He replies firmly, “Mister Dameron, a loss of life—be it the life of a Centralist, Populist, or anyone else—is tragic.” Then, softer, “Please send Senator Organa my regards. While I’m sure it’s no secret that she and I disagree on many things, I terribly miss her presence in this discussion. My staff tells me she’s already begun to recover. If I can assist in any way, please contact me.”

Poe hesitates, possibly taken aback by the unexpected kindness, and nods.

She swears she can feel an icy chill rolling off Ben.

“Now,” her grandfather sighs. “Let me be clear. This is not the time for an election campaign. I’ve run my campaign on the promise that I will work to keep this galaxy safe, but rather than continue making promises, I’ve decided to begin the work I have planned, regardless of this campaign and the eventual election results. This galaxy doesn’t need an election campaign. It needs safety. From today forward, I’m putting all my effort into helping bolster this planet’s security force. In addition, I propose the Military Creation Act be voted on quickly.”

Grimly, he adds, “If today’s events have taught us anything, it’s that we need a strong defensive force. Perhaps if we’d had one earlier, more of my colleagues would still be alive. Perhaps my opponent would not have felt forced to rely on a small band of hired killers to get her to safety. As it is now, our Security Force is still finding more victims as they survey the Senate Building. Sadly, at this moment, we do not have exact numbers regarding loss of life, but I can tell you for certain—the number, whatever it may be, is too high.”

He doesn’t gesture for her to join him at the podium, doesn’t expect her to say a word—it’s a relief. The truth is, the circulating media of her defending her grandfather at knife-point has said plenty. If the crowd saw her still-unwashed hands, Rey’s not sure how they’d react.

More is said, but she doesn’t hear it because a single person, standing back away from the crowd as though they’re merely a citizen wandering around the plaza, catches every ounce of her attention. Armie’s stare pierces her, even from a distance. The last time she saw him, he was on his knees next to Ben, with CSF officers pointing blasters at both of them.

The very second the crowd breaks up, Rey walks over to him, avoiding anyone who has questions for her. She tries to hide how much she wants to run to him and wrap him in a hug and fix his mess of reddish hair. Instead, she arrives right in front of him with Ben trailing dutifully behind her, and she stares up at him, silently begging him to say something.

When he stays silent, only meeting her gaze with a sad one of his own, Rey opens her mouth to— 

“Don’t,” Armie interrupts. “Don’t. There’s nothing you could say. Look at yourself. You haven’t even washed the blood off.” He gestures to Ben. “You wonder why he can barely tolerate being around you, why he can’t even look at you?” He steps closer and continues, his voice lower. “We both knew, when we heard CSF report they’d found the body. Did you even flinch when the knives went in?”

Her bottom lip wobbles, but _no._ No, he doesn’t get to see her cry.

Her voice comes out terrifyingly cold and through a sneer—a facade to mask how much she wants to cry into his shoulder and take back everything that’s happened. 

“I twisted them.”

Armie lets out a shaky breath, flattening his lips in a grim line. “I love you,” he whispers. “You know I love you like my family, but— _”_ His voice cracks. _“_ But I’m not sure I know you. The only thing I can say with absolute certainty is that you don’t fully understand what you’ve done today. And maybe I share the blame for that, maybe I should have been more honest with you, but—” Her eyes go wide, and she wants to ask, wants to know, but Armie shakes his head and says, “No, I can’t be here. Not with you. Not now. Maybe not ever.” 

“But you’re my family, I—” 

“No, I’m not,” Armie interrupts again. “Go back to Senator Palpatine. Clearly I was never family enough for you, so go back to your grandfather since you’re so intent on pleasing him. I’m sure you’ll be right at home.”

Her first reaction—flinching—isn’t terrible, but her second reaction _is._

“You’re right,” she bites out. “You weren’t even enough for your own flesh and blood. How could you ever be enough for me?”

The words register as they leave her mouth, and her next breath is a shudder. Armie looks… entirely unsurprised. Sad. Heartbroken, but unsurprised. He nods, just once, and turns before she can take it back.

But maybe words like that can’t be taken back.

Ben’s hand clamps onto her shoulder, making it so she can’t follow Armie as he gets onto an airspeeder. She’s not sure she was planning to follow him, anyway. 

The hand on her shoulder tightens, just past the point of comfort, but Rey holds back a wince as she watches Armie leave.

Minutes pass before Ben speaks, and when he does, she’s thankful she can’t see his face. His voice is low. Silky, but terrifying.

“I keep asking myself how they knew,” he murmurs. “I keep wondering how Senator Palpatine and the media found out my mother hired the Knights of Ren, especially so quickly. As it is, the media shouldn’t even know the Knights were present, but they do, _and_ they know my mother’s the one who got them involved. She’s barely made it to a medcenter, and someone may have already ruined her career and reputation.”

Rey swallows, squeezing her eyes shut as she feels a single tear roll down her face.

“I keep wondering about that,” Ben continues. “But I shouldn’t. I know the truth, I just don’t want to believe it. I know it wasn’t any of the surviving Knights. They’re already off-planet, had to go into hiding because _now_ CSF knows they were here. I think I can safely assume my mother’s staff didn’t inform the press since she didn’t even see fit to tell Dameron who she hired. Logically, there’s only one person who could have connected those dots for the media. Only one person was in my bedroom to overhear that comm.”

She folds her arms over her chest, sucking in a breath, and does her best not to flinch again as he goes on.

“Whoever it was didn’t just betray my mother. They betrayed _me_ , and my planet’s future queen,” he hisses, the grip on her shoulder turning painful. “I’ve asked myself what sort of monster could leak that information. What sort of person might risk ruining a woman’s career just because she, in a desperate moment of need, called her son for help.” He huffs, adding in a mutter, “I suppose it takes the same sort of person who murders a man trying to protect her.”

Ben must step closer, because his next words feather against the skin of her temple.

“Tell me, little bird, did Trudgen somehow put your life in danger, or did you just want to see more blood spill?” 

Unable to handle more, Rey turns her head back to him, seething with unbidden rage.

“I am _not_ a little bird,” she snaps, baring her teeth at him. “He locked me in, tried to—”

“He was only doing what I ordered,” Ben interrupts. “Did you stop to consider that? More importantly, when you betrayed my mother and I, was it an accident, a slip of the tongue? Or did you know exactly how much it would help your grandfather’s campaign?”

She hesitates at the fury in his eyes, in his voice, but it quickly softens into something much more menacing as he leans in. His eyes flick over her face, and he’s close enough to kiss. Or kill.

“Oh. I see it now,” he whispers. “I didn’t before, but it’s there.” 

Rey grinds her teeth, arms tightening over her chest as she glares up at him. “What?” 

His throat bobs. “The family resemblance.”

And then he lets go of her and leaves her there, stunned, while he gingerly climbs into the air speeder he’ll share with her and her grandfather.

A dry sob escapes her just as soon as he’s gone. She wants to be glad she held herself together, but she barely did. Neither of them saw her cry, neither of them saw her beg forgiveness, but she almost did both of those things. She wipes at her eyes with the sleeves of her cloak, wishing she’d had time between leaving the Senate Building and arriving at this small press conference to shower and wash off the sweat and grime and blood. 

There’s a gentle pat on her shoulder, and she leans into the desperately needed bit of affection.

“It’ll be fine, dear,” her grandfather promises. “You did the right thing.”

Rey sniffs, wiping away another tear before she looks over at him. “I don’t know,” she says honestly. “I’m not sure I—”

“You did,” he interrupts, but it’s not rude. His voice is kind, his slight smile sympathetic. “You told the truth, and you did what you thought was right. I’m proud of you. You only need to let the dust settle. We’ve all been through a traumatic event. It will take time to process.” He pats her shoulder again, and where it once felt the opposite, now it feels comforting. “Come, Rey. Let’s go home. Are you still able to join me for dinner?”

She nods, murmuring, “Of course. I just need time to get cleaned up first.”

Her grandfather nods back, seeming more understanding than he’s ever been. 

But then he does something he’s never done. He holds out his hand to her, like he expects her to take it, and for the longest moment, Rey can only stare at the proffered hand. Her own hand is stained a terrible rust color, but he’s offering his anyway—offering acceptance, family, love, comfort. Everything she hoped for as a little girl abandoned on a desert planet.

As she takes her grandfather’s hand and lets him lead her to the air speeder, she turns numb, through-and-through, which is strange. She should be happy, or at the very least, it should all feel bittersweet.

It’s not until twenty minutes later, when she’s showering, that a heartbreaking realization sinks in. 

She watches red-tinged blood swirl around the drain and it’s far, _far_ too late to fix things when it hits her. Tears flow freely, sobs coming rapidly and wracking her body until she finally curls up in a ball on the shower floor, muttering to herself over and over again as the shower water turns cold.

Everything she’s always wanted, everything she’s always hoped for…

It doesn’t feel as good as she thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)   
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	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're starting what is basically "Part II" of this fic, so expect a bit of a shift in the tone and pace. Thanks for all your comments! You might notice, I've been putting an expected update date in the summary--I'll keep that updated, but so far I've been updating every 1-2 weeks (preferably every week, but the longer chapters slowed my pace). <3

“Current rumors from inside the senate building are that she’s been working closely with her grandfather to run for a senatorial position herself someday, a _true_ step up from—” 

_Click._

“I don’t understand why she isn’t in cuffs. We have obvious evidence that she’s a murder—they showed it across the _holonet._ I don’t care whether her victim was innocent or guilty, _it was not self defense._ Look, replay the recording. She viciously murdered that Crimson Dawn member while he was trying to get away from her. What more evidence does CSF need? Unless we want vigilantes running through Coruscant—”

_Click._

“—heralded as a hero. What a brave young woman, risking her life to save her own grandfather, our esteemed Senator—”

_Click._

“Meanwhile, several petitions have sprung up in the wake of last week’s tragic events, many of them proposing that Rey Palpatine take up a position within the senate herself—“

_Click._

“This is unacceptable! If Rey Palpatine was an average citizen, she’d be sitting in a prison! How can we—”

_Click._

“—and I’m coming to you live from 500 Republica, where Senator Palpatine and his granddaughter reside. Per an inside source, we’ve been told we might glimpse the Senator’s reclusive granddaughter leaving for the evening. Now, you may already know Miss Palpatine’s—more commonly known as _Rey’s—_ tragic history before coming to live with her grandfather, but what you _don’t_ know is—”

With a frustrated shriek, Rey picks a pillow off the bed next to her and tosses it toward her holoTV, forcibly shutting the device off. She wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to rip the knives from under her pillow and take the turbolift downstairs and wave them in the face of the reporters who keep making shit up about her until they leave her alone. Maybe then they wouldn't call her a hero.

But living on Jakku taught her many things. 

A tiny speck of green—a small spinebarrel flower found growing out of sand—taught her that life could manage and survive through the harshest conditions. Scavenging taught her that mechanical parts many would see as trash could be repurposed and traded for sustenance. Her grandfather’s shuttle touching down near her AT-AT taught her that, if she waited long enough, even the unthinkable might happen.

She’s survived worse, she’s repaired things more heavily damaged, and she’s waited far longer than this for things to get better.

This will get better, too.

At least, that’s what Rey tells herself. She shoves aside all the ridiculous lies they’ve been telling about her _and_ the painful truths until the sleeping meds she took take effect. She hates the things, hates feeling like she’s still half-asleep most of the next morning, but it’s the only way she’s gotten any sleep lately.

While tears soak her pillow, she finally drifts off to sleep to the too-distant memory of falling asleep wrapped in a warm, safe embrace.

\--*--

_Everything’s different when she walks into the Senate Chambers for a second time, now trailing behind her grandfather. The bodies have been dragged to one side of the massive room, everything is still a haze of smoke, but at least there’s no blaster fire. The Knights of Ren aren’t around, and it seems any lingering Crimson Dawn members are being taken out in cuffs. Things are blurry, details vague, but her eyes focus on the men in cuffs. Armie and Ben, both on their knees and surrounded by CSF agents. The sight makes her stomach turn._

_Ben looks feral, his hair a stringy mess that hangs over one eye, his mouth open in a snarl while he hunches over. Her gaze locks on to his as part of her recognizes something in him, something she hasn’t noticed yet. Something dangerous that was never meant to be stowed safely away. Ben stares right back, his lips pressing together. She wants to walk toward him, tower over him and run her hand through his hair and tug his head back and kiss him and apologize and tell him…_

She wants to tell him this all ends better than he thinks it might—she wants to promise him his mother leaves this alive and well, but Rey can’t. It hasn’t happened yet.

_“Senator Palpatine, the rest of the senate has been evacuated,” Divo informs them. “Any living Crimson Dawn members have been arrested and taken in for questioning.” He gestures to Ben and Armie. “These two were fighting our officers and Crimson Dawn, but we haven’t taken them in, per your request. My team’s left them uninjured.”_

_Ben is furious, and rightly so. “Uninjured? You shot my mother, how does that not count as injured? Why is she not being taken to a hospital?”_

_Concern seeping into his voice, her grandfather looks to Lieutenant Divo and lets out a hushed, “Surely someone has requested an ambulance for my fellow senator? The woman needs medical attention, immediately.”_

_“Of course, sir,” Divo reassures. “My officers have confirmed the ambulance should be here any minute, and the med-team requested we not move the senator. We’re doing everything we can, and—”_

This, perhaps, is the reason for this nightmare. The terrified gleam that Ben’s eyes took on in this moment, the crack in his voice. The horrible, gut-wrenching swap from a rageful man to a terrified son, desperate and begging. Divo said more, reported more regarding Senator Organa and the state of her health and how his officers had been tending to her and how they actually handled this properly with as-needed logical medical care and not an ounce of compassion, but Rey never caught exactly what he said. Every speck of her memory from this moment was focused on Ben.

She tosses in her bed, tries to pull herself out of the dream like she does every night, but it latches on like a terrible form of torture. 

_“Rey? Rey, please, can you—” Ben chokes out. “Can you talk to her? Keep her awake until they get here? Don’t let her be alone, please, they won’t take my cuffs off—”_

_She wants to sob. Wants to drop to her knees in front of where he’s on his and comfort him and promise it’ll all be okay. Because it will be okay. His mother will live, she’ll heal up just fine, she’ll even go back to work so quickly her doctor won’t be very pleased with her._

But in the moment, Rey didn’t know that. All she knew was the look of pleading desperation and the pain in his voice. 

Some nights she’ll wake up sobbing at this point, and she’ll call Senator Organa while masking her number, just to hear the woman answer tiredly… just to hear the woman’s voice to confirm she _did_ live. Rey’s never sure whether it’s a relief, or if it’s a worse place for the nightmare to stop. The next part of her memory breaks her heart over and over again, but maybe she deserves that.

_“Of course,” she breathes, moving to drop to her knees next to the woman… the woman she’s disagreed with on almost everything, but whose strength she can’t help but admire._

_Senator Organa’s breaths are shallow. The burnt hole in her clothes is near her shoulder, which must be better than it being closer to her chest, though a blaster shot is never good. Rey tugs the shoulder of the woman’s robe aside until she has a better view, her grimace tightening at the pained exhale that leaves Senator Organa’s mouth. It’s cauterized, as she’d expect from a clean blaster shot, but the scent of burnt flesh turns her stomach. In the worst way, Rey wishes it was an unfamiliar scent._

_“Senator?” she whispers, ignoring the people behind her. As gently as possible, she nudges the woman until her eyes flutter open. “Senator? Can you hear me?”_

_With a long groan, Senator Organa says, her voice thick and strained, “Would you— just— Leia, please.”_

_It’s a strange moment to be amused, but the senator’s near eye-roll at being addressed by title makes Rey snort. “Leia, then. An ambulance is on its way, okay? You’re going to be fine, just stay awake and talk to me.”_

_Rey finds Leia’s hand and squeezes, unsure of what to say. She lands on awkward, nervous babbling, running from one sentence to the next without stopping. “Would you believe they dared to put Ben in handcuffs? We’ll get them off, you don’t need to worry, CSF just misunderstood and didn’t realize he’s your son, and frankly I’m just surprised anyone handcuffed him and lived to tell my grandfather about it. And speaking of your son, is he always so frustrating? Does he get that from you, or—”_

_Leia silences her with breathy laughter, and a squeeze of her hand. Her eyes are the same brown as Ben’s, and realizing it makes Rey’s chest ache._

_“Take care of him,” is all Leia murmurs._

_Her heart shatters._

_“What?” Rey breathes. “No, Leia, that’s— no. You’re going to be fine.”_

_She looks over to Ben, her eyes wide, and that just increases the panic in his expression. Trying to laugh it off, trying to ignore the seriousness of everything, Rey squeezes Leia’s forearm, reassuring, “You just need some bacta, you’ll be back to declaring my grandfather a criminal soon… And scolding your son, of course. For what, I’m not sure, but he seems like he probably always needs lots of scolding, don’t you think?” She bites her lip, blinking back tears at the way Leia’s mouth twists into a soft smile. “Um. Leia. Tell me… tell me about Alderaan. I’ve heard it’s a beautiful planet.”_

Sometimes the dream goes on and gets better, and the Leia in those dreams sits up and realizes she’s perfectly fine, her wound magically healed. In those dreams, she tells Rey that Alderaan is the most beautiful planet in the galaxy, and she’s invited to visit anytime. 

Sometimes things get worse—those are the nights that end in choked crying once Rey wakes, the kind of crying that just doesn’t stop until she physically can’t handle more.

But in real life, Leia never told her about Alderaan. Medcenter employees rushed into the Senate Chambers before she got the chance, and they eased her onto a portable bed with practiced precision, inspecting her injury and making notes regarding her needed treatments.

In real life, all Rey could do was watch and climb to her feet while simultaneously breaking down into body-shuddering sobs.

Even on the nights when her nightmare _does_ matches reality, it ends before the only part of the memory that’s of any comfort—the part where Ben, finally out of cuffs, rushes to her since his mother’s already been taken by the medcenter employees… the part where he wraps around her and trembles, holding back his own tears while he lets her cry into his chest. It’s the moment in time before he knows what she did to Trudgen. The speck of _good_ before he hates her and calls her a monster. 

Maybe she doesn’t deserve the reminder of the last time he touched her in a way that wasn’t harsh and hateful.

Maybe she doesn’t deserve the echo of comfort.

\--*--

Rey wakes at the sound of a scream. Her own, judging by the rawness of her throat. Tonight, the events of her dream went badly, much worse than they went in real life. She sits up, back rigid and shoulders tense as she pants, wiping sweat from her brow. Her head spins, and with a soft groan, Rey lets her head drop into her hands.

It’s been almost two weeks, and this dream comes back every time she closes her eyes. How much longer can it go on? How much longer will her memories and imagination punish her? Forever, maybe. That’s what she’s afraid of.

With a deep breath, Rey resolves _not_ to call Senator Organa again—the woman’s alive, and undoubtedly wondering why she’s received half a dozen anonymous calls from a person who severs the connection the moment they hear her voice. Reminding herself how quickly the woman healed up, Rey sighs and climbs out of bed. A cold sweat has gathered behind her knees, under her arms, over her chest, and she grimaces as she tugs a thin robe off a hook on her wall and wraps it around herself. 

As she walks out into the hallway and past Armie’s room—his _old_ room—her heart sinks. She isn’t even sure when he moved out. Two or three days after the catastrophe at the Senate Building, she baked for him, knowing it wouldn’t help things but hoping, anyway. After knocking for a solid five minutes, she’d opened his door and dropped the little tray of cookies at the sight of his near-empty room.

The apartment feels hollow without him. Despite the elaborate decorations and luxurious furniture, it feels a little too much like her AT-AT. 

She shuffles through the darkened living room, and slides open the door to the apartment’s balcony. Freezing air washes over her, pricking at her bare skin in a way she’s grown numb to. This is a new routine. She wakes up crying and feeling smothered by the weight of so much tragedy, then comes out here—the only place it’s still possible to breathe, though she's careful to leave the door propped.

Coruscant isn’t quiet, not even this early in the morning when everything is dark and when everyone _should_ be sleeping. People are still bustling through the city, enjoying restaurants and shows and clubs. People are out there in the city, going on dates or looking up at the stars or having sex or comforting their children who have had awful dreams.

Rey leans her front against the firm railing, watching speeders zip by, looking so tiny from her height that they could be children’s toys.

The world hasn’t stopped. There’s a small bit of comfort to be found in that—even if _her_ world has stopped and been tossed upside down, time is still barreling on as usual. The galaxy is continuing on; the city is still full of life.

Rey closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and sighs it out.

“As you seem to be available,” Ben says tiredly, “Would you care to review today’s schedule?”

She startles at the voice in _her_ spot, and cuts her gaze over to the man she hadn’t noticed, standing in the shadows at the other end of the balcony. He hasn’t bothered to sit, either. 

Swallowing, she steadies herself, putting on a voice that hopefully doesn’t sound like she’s cried it hoarse. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

He doesn’t move closer, but it's a relief to know he's there. His voice is as cold as his expression, and as the frigid night air. “As you can see, I am. Since you’re up, would you care to review today’s schedule? I believe you have a breakfast meeting with Senator Palpatine later this morning, and then a lunch with—”

“Can we please not?” she whispers. “Not right now.”

The stone of the balcony’s half-wall is firm and cold against her forearms, and Rey drops her head to rest in her hands. It’s painful, the way he’s gone full-employee mode. Even the frustratingly handsome grins are forever gone. She can’t bring himself to look at him with how somber he seems; it’s like he’s a different person. 

Most days she can pull herself together and handle it. She can handle Ben refusing to look at her, she can handle Ben refusing to speak to her in that soft way he used to. She can handle living without the teasing, she can handle not watching him pretend he’s not amused with her. She can handle him not touching her, him not kissing her. Most of the time.

Ben treats her like she’s a stranger now. Maybe she is.

“Just…” she starts, wiping at the corner of her eye with the sleeve of her robe. “I’d rather not do this right now.”

“Yeah, me too,” he finally mutters. He’s quiet for a minute, offering, “Have you been watching the news?”

“Not since I became their favorite topic.”

He nods knowingly, and for a moment, it seems like he might comfort her or sympathize. He doesn’t.

“Some reporters are trying to get exclusive interviews with you, and I have a feeling not all will be happy to take _no_ for an answer. That holovid of you…” He hesitates, and continues with a generous interpretation of said holovid, “Protecting your grandfather… made waves, it seems. While many see it positively, just as many are calling for your arrest. We’ll need to be more careful with your trips out.”

Her answer comes in a defeated whisper. “I understand.”

Silence falls between them. It’s an unfamiliar, uncomfortable silence of two people who were briefly _very_ familiar and no longer are, and Rey isn’t sure how to process it on top of everything else. She longs to talk with him about anything other than his job, but as he’s made clear from his shut-down of her repeated attempts, he doesn’t share the urge.

The only safe way forward she can see is a quiet, “Do you know how Armie is? He won’t reply to my messages. I don’t need details, as long as he’s safe. I don’t think we’ve ever been apart this long.”

Ben doesn’t reply right away and only stares out into the city… like he’s trying to decide if he should answer. After a moment, he takes pity on her. “He’s fine,” Ben says stiffly. “I’ve been checking on him. He had bruised ribs, some scrapes, but he’s fine now. Physically, at least.”

“And otherwise?” she asks in a breath, terrified for the answer.

That question is the one that gets Ben to look over at her. He works his jaw, his gaze inspecting her reddened eyes, her permanently down-turned mouth, the robe that’s hanging on her more loosely than it should. Maybe there’s a flash of sympathy on his face. Maybe it’s a figment of her wishful imagination.

“That’s a hard question,” Ben admits. “I think he wants everything to go back to normal, but he knows that isn’t possible, which, I assume, is why he moved out. I can’t know exactly how he feels, but my guess is he’s worried for you. Confused. Upset, too.”

Before she looses her nerve, Rey asks softly, “And you? Are you confused, too?”

He shakes his head, just once. “No. I know what I think of you.”

“You think I’m a monster,” she murmurs. “So why bother staying? Why protect me?”

His answer is plain. “Your grandfather pays well.”

Plain and disingenuous, because the Prince of Alderaan—one of the wealthier planets in the galaxy—hardly needs the credits.

But Rey doesn’t point that out. Pointing it out would be a quick and painful way to end the tiny speck of hope she has that whatever’s between them might improve.

Their gazes stay locked, and she inches toward him, wondering when he’ll snap at her and tell her to stop. She’s given him space, apologized over and over when they’re in the same room, sent his mother flowers and asked for regular updates regarding her health… but it doesn’t seem like there’s much else she can do. At the very least, she wants to know if there’s anything to salvage. She’s good at salvaging.

Ben doesn’t stop her as she gets closer. He watches her like he’s trying to figure out her intentions.

Once she’s close enough to press her side to his, Rey looks back out at the city and dares to whisper, “Do you wish things could go back to how they were? Do you… do you think we could put everything behind us, eventually?”

When she glances over and sees the coldness in his eyes and the terrible grimace on his face, it feels a little like she can’t breathe. The sound of low, cruel, humorless laughter is far from what she expects, but maybe it’s what she deserves. 

Then, abruptly, his words hit like a slap. “What makes you think that’s possible?”

“Nothing.” She swallows the bile that rises as the truth sinks in, and she gives him a slight shrug. “But I wish it was.”

If he’s surprised by her answer, he gives no indication of it. They fall back into silence, letting the dull roar of the city below fill the wide space between them.

Ben doesn’t comfort her. Doesn’t wrap an arm around her when she shivers in the freezing night breezes, doesn’t ask if she’s okay after the nightmares she _knows_ he hears through their shared wall. What he does, though, is still more than she expects. Probably more than she deserves.

He stays, and his presence, though reluctant and maybe even full of a thrumming undercurrent of hatred, is enough.

\--*--

“You look tired, dear.”

Rey blinks blearily up at her grandfather, across the dining table. There was a breakfast spread waiting when she arrived, an entire table covered in pastries, fruits, and hot foods ranging from omelets to hotcakes already covered in poptree syrup, but just the sight of all of it turned her stomach the moment she sat down. Her plate is sparse, but her grandfather doesn’t seem to notice.

They’ve shared five meals in the last week and a half, and he never seems to notice.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she admits, relieved for once that Ben isn’t in the room. He was invited, but as he put it, nobody would murder her over breakfast in her grandfather’s apartment. This morning on the balcony was a rarity; lately he’s preferred to avoid her whenever his services as bodyguard are unneeded. Rey steels herself, pushing the thoughts aside, and she gives the man across the table a smile. “I woke early, got some fresh air on the balcony when it was still dark, but I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

Her grandfather gestures to the pot of caf as though it might solve all her problems and then continues on with not a speck of…

Compassion. _Care._

He’s just not that sort of person, she tells herself. He shows love in other ways.

“Let’s discuss the role you’ll take on,” he says, his mouth curling into his campaign smile. “You’ve had time to rest and recuperate, so if you’re ready, I’d like to assign you a task.”

Rey straightens in her seat, gesturing for her grandfather to continue.

“As I’ve halted campaign work to focus on ensuring galactic security, there’s an important matter I’d like to assign you,” he explains, and she’s suddenly so _alert,_ so excited that he’s finally seeing her usefulness. He hesitates over the rim of his mug, and puts it down to say, “When you efficiently managed those Crimson Dawn members, you displayed—both to me and the entire galaxy—that you are capable of handling yourself. The task I ask of you is one my security force cannot complete.” At her curious frown, he leans over his plate, explaining, “I need this done _quietly._ It may require off-world travel. If so, I insist your bodyguard accompany you. You can inform him he’ll be appropriately compensated, of course. Assuming,” her grandfather adds, looking to her expectantly, “You’re willing?”

 _Efficiently managed_ isn’t quite the phrase the media uses, but still, Rey nods. “Absolutely,” she says, reaching for a fruit pastry. She rips a small piece off, nibbling at it despite her delicate appetite. “What do you need? When do I leave?”

He seems pleased she’s agreed. The smile on his face grows from the one she sees during his campaign speeches to something more real. There’s even a gleam to his eyes, just before the conversation turns to business. “Unfortunately, I’ve been made aware of a serious breach in my office’s security. Criminals—whether Crimson Dawn or otherwise—have stolen something very important of mine. You see, Rey,” he sighs, settling back into his seat, “A datapad was stolen from my office. The device itself is of no consequence, but the information on it has already proven dangerous.”

“A datapad?” Her eyes narrow. She’d been expecting something a bit more… well, a bit _more._ “So, what’s on it? Who might have it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” her grandfather says, his voice full of regret, “I’m afraid knowing that would only put you in greater danger. It’s already caused a great deal of trouble.” After a brief pause, he says, “I apologize for being vague, but please believe it’s for your own protection.” He stops, like he’s already not sure he should go on, but adds, “This data could be dangerous in the wrong hands, and I need you to recover it before that happens. I believe Crimson Dawn is already searching for it.”

It’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room, but she can’t quite figure out why. Something’s tugging at the corner of her mind, like there’s something she’s missed. 

Oblivious to the strange feeling settling over her, her grandfather sips from his coffee and gives her a serious look. “I cannot provide you with information past what I’ve said. The datapad went missing from my office, and the contents of it are vitally important to the safety of the galaxy. I prefer to think the device hasn’t been taken off-planet, but if you come to believe that isn’t the case, please inform me if you need transportation. I need you to find it and return it before the information stored on it lands in the wrong hands.”

Her mind feels a little foggy, but it has consistently, likely due to a lack of sleep. “Sure,” she says slowly, nodding to him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Her grandfather gives a pleased sigh, then pushes his chair back to move from the table, “I’m afraid I have another meeting I’m about to be late for.” His eyes meet hers with an unfamiliar fondness. “My dear, if you are available, we’ll have dinner later this week. You can provide me with an update on what you’ve found then.”

She gives him a faint nod, her frown and confusion deepening as he leaves the dining room, headed for his personal office.

Something feels off. Like she’s just been handed a puzzle piece to a puzzle she wasn’t even working on. With another bite of pastry, she mulls it over while her eyes go unfocused. When it clicks—what’s been on the tip of her tongue—she drops the pastry, not even caring when it lands on the table and not her plate. Her grandfather’s long-gone to whatever meetings he has, and any once-steaming food in front of her has gone cold.

An item Crimson Dawn is looking for…

_I think this is Mon Mothma’s office. I wonder why they were in here._

Something that’s already put others in danger…

_They’re looking for something Mon Mothma gave me—something they cannot get their hands on._

Rey swallows. The pastry is like ash in her mouth, for one miserable reason.

She knows exactly who has the datapad.

The concerning thing is, she doesn’t know _why._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)   
>  [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)


	12. Chapter 12

Rey’s never liked the interviews, the fancy luncheon meet-and-greets, or the other miserable excuses for schmoozing that a career in politics seems to require. Even just the handful she’s been forced to tag along to were miserable, and those barely concerned her, aside from the occasional retelling of her so-called tragic upbringing.

So it’s especially painful when those events center on her.

The restaurant they’re in, the _Skysitter_ , is one she’s been to a handful of times with her grandfather, though her first trip here as a child ended swiftly when her grandfather discovered the extents of her Jakku-learned manners. Since, she’s learned not to lick her fingers or a plate. At least not publicly. As a child, the rotating Senate District restaurant fascinated her; often she’d spend just as much time staring out at the panoramic cityscape view as she would eating. 

Perhaps it’s a silly thing to be so taken with. None of her lunch-companions seem phased by it. Not even Ben, though to be fair, he looks utterly bored and uninterested in _anything._

Naturally, Rey zones out over her untouched lunch, staring out at the slow-moving view that she can spot over the shoulder of the stranger sitting across from her. Her eyes go unfocused. Questions concerning the datapad have been swarming in her mind since her grandfather mentioned it just hours earlier, and even now, all her thoughts focus on the object and its probable new owner. She’s busy trying to determine whether to be upfront and ask Ben if he can get it for her when Lady Carise Sinidan politely clears her throat. 

Rey stiffens in her seat, giving the woman a dry look, but Lady Carise is ever the picture of upper-class Coruscanti grace despite not even being from the planet. The woman’s glimmering silver robes, embroidered with the jewels of her homeworld, give Rey pause. Briefly, she’s worried she’s under-dressed, but as she self-consciously tugs at the sleeve of her plain scarlet blouse under the table, her shoulder aches with the sort of soreness that’s bad enough to remind her she was recently _blown up_. 

She’s allowed to be under-dressed, Rey decides.

Trying to keep the tiredness from her expression, Rey glances to the stranger across from her—the one who _still_ hasn’t stopped babbling, not even to notice she’s long since stopped paying attention.

“—so brave of you, Miss Palpatine. That’s why we at The Coruscant Insider were so excited when you agreed to the interview.”

All her focus snaps to the word _interview._ Rey’s brows raise. “Wait, what? Interview?”

Lady Carise intervenes with a feline smile. “Of course, dear. Didn’t your grandfather inform you?” She gives a tinkling laugh, gently tucking dark waves over her shoulder. “The lovely people at The Insider want to do a feature on you. Mister Halcorr—sorry, _Gil—_ is here to ask you a few questions.”

Perhaps she should have paid more attention when Ben wanted to review her schedule. She was just so thrown by him acting as her rigid, robotic personal assistant, she’d heard the word _lunch_ and apparently blocked out the rest. When Lady Carise met her at the restaurant, it was already too late to turn around or pretend she knew why she was being subjected to a lunch with the woman.

With a sigh, Rey says, “Okay, I guess it’s an interview. What do you want to know?”

The interviewer—Gil Halcorr, a man perhaps a little older than Ben—is wearing a plain deep blue tunic and a bemused expression as he hums and checks his datapad. He’s got the oddly sculpted facial hair many Coruscanti men seem taken with, for whatever reason.

“Let’s go with… what were you thinking, in that moment?” he asks excitedly, like he isn’t describing one of her worst experiences. “I think we’ve all seen that recording now, most of us saw it live, but that moment when you defended your grandfather, what was going through your mind?”

She winces at the memory, at the residual rage that flicks up her spine. “I was surprised by how easily they went in.”

“They, being…?”

“The knives,” she clarifies bluntly. “Flesh cuts like cold butter. I hadn’t expected that.”

From her right, Ben chokes and coughs into a glass. The interviewer—Gil—stares blankly at her, obvious horror sinking into his expression as he realizes she isn’t making a terrible joke.

Lady Carise seems to recover first, with a light laugh. “I believe my companion means to say that it was easier than she expected to defend her grandfather, whom she loves very much.” She gives Gil a saccharine grin, “And don’t we all feel that way? There are people in our lives we’d do anything for, even if it means injuring another, or—regrettably—ending a life.”

Sure. That’s what she meant. Rey tries not to roll her eyes at the obvious attempt at damage control. Perhaps _this_ is why she’s been cursed with the woman’s company today. 

“Of course,” Gil nods, though his response is hesitant. “Let’s… move on. Miss Palpatine, there are so many rumors that you may be preparing to take up a role in your grandfather’s office. Now, what would that look like for you? Are you more interested in something public-facing, or—”

Lady Carise interrupts, playfully scolding the man. “ _Mister Halcorr,_ you know that information won’t be released until Senator Palpatine is ready to make a statement regarding it. While Rey may be in talks with her grandfather regarding a permanent position, I’m afraid we—”

“Lady Carise,” Ben drawls, “Perhaps you’d like to let Rey answer a question or two herself. Unless this is _your_ interview. Did I misunderstand?”

The woman’s smile doesn’t even falter as she glances over at him with wide caramel-brown eyes. “Oh, _Rey,”_ she enthuses. “I wasn’t aware your bodyguard was so… multi-purpose. How useful.” Her grin turns to Ben. “While we’re discussing it, how _does_ a son of the House of Organa come to be a bodyguard? Your mother must be so proud.” She leans forward, whispering conspiratorially, “Pity it ruined her career.”

The knives at her side have never been so tempting. Rey takes a calming breath and tries to ignore her rising anger. Lady Carise has _always_ rubbed her the wrong way, since the very first day Rey met the woman and overheard her use the phrase _Jakku scum._

Ben tilts his head, his expression somehow remaining wholly unaffected. “Better to risk a ruined career than maintain a career made off the work of others. While we’re discussing careers, what _do_ you do for Senator Palpatine? Are you somehow useful now, or do you simply sit around and spout off tired rhetoric regarding the sanctity of royal blood?”

He says every word with a brutally straight face. 

She’d consider saying something herself, but Rey can’t think of how to add to what he’s said… and she’s too overwhelmed by a frustrating fluttering in her chest when she stares at him. Ben’s gaze finds hers, and— 

And she must imagine the way his eyes soften. It’s for the briefest second before he looks away, but…

Wishful thinking, probably.

On her other side, Lady Carise tsks, her attention redirecting to the interviewer. “Pardon us,” she murmurs. Her grin returns, along with her enthusiastic voice. “Such a lively, opinionated bunch, aren’t we? Do you have more questions?”

Rey almost feels sympathy for Gil, especially when she notices his wide-eyed _what-did-I-get-myself-into_ expression. She takes a long drink of whatever wine Lady Carise ordered for the both of them, and grimaces as she hears the unintentional grossness of Gil’s next question.

“Let’s go with something a little less political,” he says, recovering with a laugh. “Miss Palpatine, would you like to address the rumors circulating? The ones regarding you and Armitage Hux?”

“ _Me and—”_ She pauses, so _fucking_ tired of this interview, and tries to ignore her nausea. “Do I even want to know what these rumors are? I’m sure I don’t.”

Gil frowns slightly. “That you’re together?”

To her horror, Lady Carise’s voice takes on a hint of a sultry tone. “Well, they make a lovely couple, don’t they? What a beautiful love story, too. They’re each other’s families, both abandoned by their own parents and raised by a kind, wealthy politician… _”_

Rey can’t hold back her burst of laughter. It’s not even particularly funny, it’s just _absurd_ , and after so many days—weeks, really—of dark awfulness, the ridiculousness of the claim makes her laugh with a sense of lightness she’s almost forgotten she could feel. Even Ben’s mouth tilts into a subtle hint of amusement, though it could just be that he’s enjoying the way Lady Carise is staring at her like she regrets agreeing to attend today’s lunch. 

When Rey finally catches her breath, after a long drink, she looks up to the reporter. “ _No,”_ she half-giggles, half-blurts. _“_ Armie and I are very much not together. In fact—”

Lady Carise interrupts, speaking to Gil. “But surely there have been moments when the two of them have felt tension. Perhaps… enjoyed relations? Ruling it out entirely would be premature.”

“I can promise you it wouldn’t be,” Rey groans, loudly enough to shut her would-be babysitter up. “Would you _stop_ speaking for me? Or, if you plan to speak for me, you could at least attempt to get a question right.”

The woman’s eyes grow wide, and Gil— _poor, poor Gil_ —chimes in with, “But Miss Palpatine, recent rumors claim you’ve been involved with—”

Her attention flicks to him, tired and absolutely done with being interrupted. Her words come out as sharp as the knives hidden and strapped to her sides. “Would you care to know more about my personal life, Mister Halcorr?” She tilts her head, clarity kicking in as she realizes it’s hard to care about decorum when more than half the galaxy’s seen her murder a man in cold blood. Her mouth widens in a toothy smile. “I’m sure I could tell you all about it. All the gory details. While I’m uninterested in pursuing something with a man who, frankly, may as well be my brother, I’m actually very taken with someone else. Do you think my grandfather would mind the galaxy knowing that I’ve—as Lady Carise might put it— _enjoyed relations_ with the son of—”

Ben stands so quickly, he jostles the table. “Miss Palpatine,” he interrupts, glaring at her. “While I’m all sure we’re curious to hear the rest of that sentence, unfortunately I’ve received a message, and we need to leave, _now._ This interview can continue later if necessary.”

Lady Carise frowns at him, at the blush staining his cheeks, and seems to put it together. At least, Rey assumes that’s why she looks both astounded and offended.

“That’s fine,” Rey nods. “I think we’re done here.”

Neither Lady Carise nor Gil bother trying to stop them, not even as Ben grabs her arm and nearly drags her off toward an exit. She follows him without argument—being manhandled is better than sticking around for more outlandish questions. 

It’s freezing when they get to the building’s speeder landing pad, and she has to pull away from him to wrap her cloak around her shoulders. Ben continues storming off toward the speeder and then glares at her, like a sullen, sulking hulk of a man when she climbs in behind him. 

As they rise into the air and take off through a speeder lane, he snaps, “That was unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“Maybe I knew you’d interrupt me,” Rey shoots back. “Unless you _actually_ received a message back there and interrupted unintentionally.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, slouching into the custom velvet speeder seat. “Of course I interrupted on purpose, I can’t imagine your grandfather would be pleased to have all of Coruscant knowing we…” his voice trails off, his gaze flicking to where she’s leaning against the console. There’s a little unexpected softness in his expression, but he schools it away quickly with a shake of his head.

“I wasn’t lying about receiving a message. After you killed Trudgen, I was worried the Knights of Ren might want retribution, so I’ve had someone keep an ear out. It seems I was right.”

Rey frowns when he doesn’t explain. “Meaning…”

“Meaning,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair like he does when he’s stressed. It’s almost endearing. “Meaning the Knights of Ren put a hit out on you. I’m sure they’d do it themselves if they weren’t currently wanted on Coruscant. Or, I _assume_ it was the Knights of Ren, but I suppose you’ve pissed off _two_ groups of criminals this month, so it could be either of them.” He gives a stressed, humorless, nearly hysteric laugh. “Or maybe the Hutts just got bored this week, who knows?”

She drops to the seat next to him, oddly unperturbed by the news. “So someone wants me dead,” she shrugs, feeling the numbness wash over her. “What’s new?”

Ben gives her a sidelong glance. “You know, when I took this job I thought it was more of a babysitting situation. I thought I’d have to put up with frustrating politics and a bratty, spoiled child. I didn’t think I’d have to deal with… _this.”_

“And you think I expected _you?”_ she asks with a bitter laugh. “You think I expected my new bodyguard to be someone who—”

When she bites her mouth closed, refusing to finish, Ben’s voice turns hesitant. “Someone who, _what?”_

Someone who finally challenged her. Someone who made her feel safe. Someone who kissed her like they were desperate to feel their mouth on hers, someone who touched her like they might not get another chance. 

Ben asks again, sounding almost afraid of her answer. “Someone who _what?”_

“Someone I care about,” she whispers. “I didn’t expect that.”

He’s quiet for a while. So long it makes her nervous, makes her think saying anything was a mistake.

When he replies, his words hurt more than the shards of glass that found her skin during the soup-kitchen explosion.

“I think if you cared, you wouldn’t have been so quick to sell out someone I love,” he says carefully. “I think… if you cared for me, it’s a little late.” 

Rey takes in a shaky breath, letting the truth of what she already knew sink in. It feels impossible, but she looks over at him, hoping to see a hint of compassion or _something_ in his eyes. All she finds is confusion and disappointment as he stares at her.

Her voice is rough and thick. “What?” She wipes her eyes on her sleeve, and a little anger seeps into her words. “What are you looking at?”

Ben’s mouth presses into a tight line, his jaw working before he answers, “I just— I’ve been trying to reconcile the woman who spent all her spare money donating to a soup kitchen with… whoever _you_ are. I’m trying to make it make sense.” His throat bobs, and he shakes his head, just once, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “And don’t act like you’re the only one who’s upset. Don’t act like you’re the only one hurt by the repercussions of your own actions. Don’t you know I wanted to be with you, or at least, the person I _thought_ you were? Don't you know I had feelings for you? Because I did."

For a second, it sounds like his voice cracks. He repeats softly, "I _did."_

He says it just as they land on top of 500 Republica.

Rey considers it a minor miracle that she makes it to the quiet of her own bedroom before the tears start, hot and angry on her cheeks. As soon as the door locks shut behind her, she unstraps her knives from under her blouse and drops to her bed, muffling her frustrated scream into a pillow.

It’s like a terrible nightmare. Every _bit_ of this, from the part where she unintentionally supplied goods to a criminal organization, to the part where she somehow spiraled into an abyss that resulted in blood on her hands—both figurative blood, and literal. It’s a dreadful dream. The worst she’s had, maybe.

Into her pillow, she insists desperately, “This is _better.”_ Her words are muffled, but she says it over and over, “This is better, it’s better, it’s better, it’s—”

It isn’t.

The endless sand of Jakku, the hope of someday having a loving family, the hands that were covered in calluses rather than blood— _that_ was better. At least on Jakku, she knew who she was. At least on Jakku, nobody looked at her with disappointment.

At least on Jakku, she had hope things could be better.

She falls asleep to memories of her AT-AT, her scrap-fabric doll, her hopeful daydreaming—memories that are now more fond than sad.

\--*--

It’s the next morning, sometime around 2 AM, when she wakes. As usual, her sleep was fraught with nightmares and fits, but the circles under her eyes have faded enough for her to notice the positive change. Going back to sleep is pointless, even at 2 AM—she’ll only have more nightmares, so Rey wanders out into the apartment in pajamas, half-hoping to find Armie’s moved back in.

When she finds the rest of the apartment as empty as expected, she lets herself fall to the cushion of the couch and flicks on the holoTV, clicking through channels until she finds one that isn’t reporting the news. It ends up being a movie—a romantic one, like Armie would have preferred. 

She’d normally rest her head on his shoulder, spread a blanket over the both of them.

Now, Rey curls up in a ball on the cushion-y surface, tucking the blanket around… just her. The quiet voices of the characters make her feel a little less alone; she can pretend Armie is with her, watching from the chair to her side.

Her eyes flutter closed as the movie goes on.

\--*--

“Rey? Hey, wake up.” Someone nudges at her shoulder. “Wake up.”

She nuzzles further into the warmth of the blanket and the comfort of the couch, clinging to the hope that she’ll wake and see that Armie’s fallen asleep in a chair, or that he’s started cooking breakfast.

Ben’s hand soothes over the crown of her head, his fingers brushing through her hair. “Wake up, Rey,” he murmurs.

Her eyes feel swollen as she blinks them open, yawning tiredly. Ben looks resigned. Exhausted. He’s sitting on the edge of the coffee table, and the moment she opens her eyes, he stops touching her. With a sigh, he reaches for a plate that’s by his side, then holds it out to her.

“I made breakfast,” he mumbles. “Eat.”

She props up on her elbow and grimaces at the offering as her stomach turns. “I’m fine.”

“I wasn’t asking.” Her gaze cuts to his, her stare challenging, but Ben doubles down. “This isn’t a conversation or an argument. You never came out of your room for dinner last night.”

Her attention goes to whatever he’s cooked her. It’s a large plate he’s holding out—one covered with a heaping of cooked eggs and meat, a buttered roll, and a small pile of cut sweet-smelling starfruit. She can’t help but think that maybe if she takes it, her fingers can slide along his.

“Come eat on the balcony,” he suggests, though it sounds more like an order. “If you do, I’ll join you.”

“That sounds like a bribe.”

Ben’s lips work together as he considers her. “If that’s what it takes, I’m willing to spend the length of a meal in your company.”

“Why are you being nice to me?” she whispers. “I think we both know you don’t want to be.”

He huffs, and it _hurts,_ the way he nods in agreement. “I owe Hux a favor. Making sure you’re okay is my way of apologizing to him for the death threats.”

“Oh.” There’s a sinking feeling in her chest. “Is that what it is?”

Ben nods again.

She takes the plate from him, sitting up on the couch. Their fingers never touch.

“I think I need to be clear about something,” he says finally. “I worry that what I said yesterday—what I said about my feelings—I worry it could have given you the wrong impression. Let me be clear. I’m not here for you, not anymore. I’m not here for the paycheck, either. The reason I stayed after what happened is that I don’t trust your grandfather. I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t know who’s responsible for it, but I have a feeling I’ll find out more if I stay.”

Her jaw clenches. “You’re here to _spy?”_

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“I would.” It’s tempting to throw the plate at him, but she only clutches it tightly. “I thought—”

_I thought you were staying for me._

The truth stabs at her gut, even more so as she looks up at him and sees the lack of… anything close to compassion in his expression. He winces either at her words, or at the disappointment and hurt that’s probably written all over her face. 

“Are you coming out to the balcony?”

“No.” She tries to ignore how sad and thin her voice sounds, and how it’s laced with something vicious. She curls her legs under herself, glowering down at the plate he’s prepared for her. “No, I think I’d prefer to be alone.”

Ben stands with a huff, and then mutters something she thinks might break her heart.

“Then it looks like you got what you wanted.”

\--*--

The Senate Building looms in front of her like a terrible reminder of everything she’s done. It’s been sixteen days and a handful of hours since the last time she stepped foot in the building, and this time, she’s alone.

So, _so_ alone.

Ben’s under the impression she’s locked away in her own bedroom, but she’s not convinced he’d care that she left. Armie’s not at her side like he was before—Rey doesn’t even know where he sleeps now. But it’s okay. It _has_ to be okay, Rey tells herself. She’s been alone before and there’s no way back now, not after what she’s done, so she does the only thing she can do.

She takes a deep breath to prepare for the incoming panic, and she steps inside the building’s main entrance.

The bustle of senate staff members and the obvious increase in security helps to calm her, but the white marble beneath her feet raises pinpricks along her forearms. Memories of that floor covered in viscous scarlet come to mind. Rey balls her hands into tense fists, relishing the feeling of her nails biting into her palm.

Nobody stops her, nobody asks her if she’s got an appointment. Perhaps _this_ is why her grandfather assigned the task he did; she has good reason to be in the building, especially with the rumors she’s taking a job with his office.

It’s tempting to go to Mon Mothma’s office first—she knows exactly where it is, and she knows nothing will be there since the room has likely been cleaned out for whoever replaces the late senator. The urge to start somewhere safe and predictable, where nobody will catch her in the act is overwhelming, but a waste of her time. Leia’s office is the logical choice, as much as Rey hates to admit it. As far as she knows, the woman’s sent the datapad off-planet, but there’s always a chance she either lied, or had it sent back. She may have even kept a copy and hidden it in her office.

As she tries to convince herself she’s doing the right thing, Rey takes a winding route that avoids passing by the Senate Chambers and eventually, she ducks into a mostly empty hallway, walking past a shining gold protocol droid on her way to her destination.

“Excuse me, miss,” the droid asks stiffly, “May I ask where you’re going?”

Rey pauses, giving the droid a polite smile. “Hi. I’m here to see Senator Organa. I’ve been so worried for her, and while I’m in the building, I thought I’d check in to see how she’s doing.”

“How nice,” the droid replies. “I am C-3PO, human cyborg relations, employed by Senator Organa. I’m afraid she’s away at lunch.”

“That’s fine, I’ll wait in her office.” When C-3PO pauses, Rey adds, “And thank you _so_ much, Senator Organa is lucky to have you in her service. You’re excellent at your job.”

The droid seems to respond well to the praise. “Well. How very kind of you to—”

“Have a great day,” Rey interrupts, walking past him with surprising ease. 

He’s still chattering on about how flattered he is when she turns into the office bearing a placard with Leia’s name and planet on it. The door closes behind her, and Rey surveys the room quickly, confirming it’s empty. There’s no telling how long it will _stay_ empty, and asking the droid would be suspicious, so she gets to work.

The room is uncomfortably similar to Mon Mothma’s old office. Rey has to shove down her unease, the leery feeling that comes over her as she notices the same carpet (though this one isn’t stained with blood), and a similar littering of belongings over various surfaces.

There’s a twinge in her gut as she goes through drawers, scans bookshelves, and feels under cushions. She finds an entire drawer of Alderaanian teas, a set of comfortable-looking slippers hidden under the desk, and an adorable stick-figure piece of child’s artwork framed on the desk’s top. She winces at a photo of a young Ben with shaggy hair, a missing front tooth, and massive ears, standing between his beaming mother and a scruffy-looking man with a similarly bright smile. 

It feels too familiar, too personal.

Maybe ten minutes into rifling through Leia’s desk, trying to leave it in the same shape she found it, voices come from the hallway, snagging her attention.

“In my office? _Why_ would you let anyone in my office, I told you—”

In a split-second, Rey slams the drawer shut and rushes around the desk, dropping to the woman’s couch. The room’s door slides open a heartbeat later, as she’s trying to steady her breath.

“—not to let anyone in, 3PO.” Leia stops short as she walks in. “Oh. _You._ ”

Leia stops so quickly inside her own office doorway that the person behind her—an elegantly dressed woman with vivid lavender hair and red lips—nearly collides with her.

“Um, hi,” Rey greets, giving the women an awkward wave.

Leia looks dumbfounded, probably at her nerve, but the other woman clears her throat, stepping past the senator. 

“Hello,” she replies, sounding a mix of curious and confused. “I’m Amilyn Holdo. Leia and I go way back.”

Rey stands, shaking the hand Amilyn’s offered. “Rey Palpatine. Nice to meet you.”

At her introduction, Amilyn goes utterly still. It takes a moment—a tense moment—but the woman finally lets out an uncomfortable laugh. “Ah. I see. Things are making more sense now.”

From the doorway, Leia speaks in the professional, unwavering tone she uses while debating someone she hates. “I assume,” she starts, a chill lacing her voice, “Since my son didn’t warn me, he doesn’t know you’re here?”

Rey shakes her head, gnawing at the inside of her mouth. The senator’s stare turns withering.

“I just… I wanted to see how you’re healing up.”

Leia’s mouth twists into a faux grin. “Oh how kind, but please be more specific. Healing from _what?_ The blaster wound, or the critical hit to my career?

From one end of the couch, Amilyn sighs something that sounds suspiciously like, “Here we go,” but Rey ignores it, and gives Leia a pleading look.

“I didn’t know it would be leaked to the press,” she says honestly. “I’m not… I’m not defending my actions, but you weren’t in the room—you don’t know what I said or why I said it.”

Leia gives a haughty laugh, something Rey can’t blame her for, and takes a seat across from her, gesturing for her to continue. “Please. Explain. Amilyn and I would love to hear it.”

It’s painful, how much she and Ben share a striking resemblance, even when they’re angry. 

Rey swallows, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Amilyn, and explains, “I was in my grandfather’s office when Lieutenant Divo reported you’d been shot. He reported that two criminals were assisting you, and I realized he was talking about Armitage and Ben. I told my grandfather that and asked him to make their safety a priority. He agreed and told Divo neither of them were to be injured or arrested.” 

She pauses, her gaze flicking to Leia’s, and she finds the woman listening closely, her lips pursed like she’s _actually_ interested in hearing the full explanation.

“I explained that Ben only came to help you, that he wasn’t here to hurt anyone,” Rey continues. “But my grandfather knows that Ben formerly worked with the Knights of Ren, so when Divo left the office, he confronted me—asked me if that’s why the Knights of Ren were there, to help you.

“I’m not trying to excuse it, I swear, but my grandfather said he’d do what he could to assure Ben’s safety _if_ I told him the truth, so I told him. I told him I’d heard the comm, that I’d heard you ask Ben for help in hiring the Knights.” She shrugs helplessly, then leans forward and rests her forearms on her knees. “And maybe I should have known how he would use the information, but I was worried for Ben, and frankly…” She sighs, and figures there’s little point in lying. “If there’s even a chance that it was his life or your reputation, I’d make the same choice again.”

The room is quiet for ages. When she looks over at Amilyn, the woman’s expression is unreadable, but it’s clear she’s waiting for Leia to issue a verdict.

“I see,” Leia finally says. She hesitates, then nods. “I suppose I’d make the same choice, though I’d like to think I would question the morality of the person presenting me with such a decision.” Her voice is full of disdain and obvious reluctance. “I’m thankful you put such importance on my son’s life, but while we’re being honest, I have to admit, I side with those who now describe you as dangerous. I’m displeased that my son is still in your family’s employ, and I’ve expressed this opinion to him. But for some reason…”

Leia’s voice takes on a tone heavy with implication. “For _some_ reason, he’s intent to stay. So I’ll ask, Rey. What does your family have on him?”

“Have on him?” Rey blinks. “What—”

Leia interrupts with a huff. “You must have wondered by now why he’s chosen to stay in your family’s employ. I can’t imagine it’s the company, or the money. So what is it? Is he being threatened? Blackmailed?”

“No,” Rey blurts. “No, of course not.”

The woman tilts her head, her eyes narrowing. “And I should believe you because you’re such a trustworthy young woman?”

“Leia, I swear,” she whispers. Her throat feels dry at the implication. “I don’t know why he’s bothering to stay, and part of me thinks it’d be easier if he didn’t. I can’t even tell if he’s angry or upset, and… and I wish he would be, because this _indifference_ he’s showing me is so much worse. He keeps calling me _Miss Palpatine_ , and he reviews my schedule with me like he’s just an employee, and I miss him _s_ —”

Rey catches herself, flushing when Leia’s eyes widen, just by a fraction, at what she’s admitted.

The room goes quiet again. 

The senator’s expression softens into something a tad sad, a tad resigned. It isn’t even unkind when she says, “I appreciate you stopping in to see how I’m healing, but perhaps you should return home before Ben finds you’re missing.”

“Right,” Rey murmurs. “I’ll go.”

Amilyn gives her a brief wave goodbye, and she almost makes it out of the door before Leia calls out to her, “One more thing, Rey. As long as you call Sheev Palpatine your _family,_ I’ll ask that you keep your relationship with my son professional. _Only_ professional. I don’t want to see another Alderaanian courting braid in your hair.”

She stops at the door, feeling her heart sink at the order and even more so at the word _courting._

The last thing she hears before leaving is, “And let’s stick with _Senator Organa.”_

\--*--

Three hours later, when she’s sitting at a table across from her grandfather, all she feels is numb. The alternative to numbness is worse, and it’s easier to sink into the part of herself that doesn’t care anymore.

She doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that Armie is gone, doesn’t care that whatever she had with Ben is over, doesn’t care that whatever bit of fondness that was blossoming between her and Leia is long forgotten. Everything is numb. Everything is gray.

“My dear,” her grandfather sighs tiredly, “I must say, I expected more progress. I’m rather disappointed.”

Her words come out in a desperate rush. “I’ll find it. I just need more time. I think you’re right about it being off-world, so if you give me a little more time—”

“You have until the start of Carnival Week.”

She nearly stops breathing. “That’s three weeks from now.”

“Yes,” he nods. “I’m aware.” He leans back in his seat, lifting a glass of blood-red wine as if in a toast. “To your success. Don’t disappoint me again, Rey.” He pauses, and adds in a curious, kind-sounding hush, “I’ve been meaning to say, I notice you’ve grown attached to that bodyguard of yours, haven’t you?” 

Rey’s about to nod, about to tell him—bitterly—that Ben’s been a great bodyguard, but her grandfather speaks again before she gets the chance. 

“It’s a pity he has such a dangerous job. You must worry for his safety.”

For a moment, she only stares at the man in front of her, letting his words echo over and over in her mind while she tries to figure out how to interpret them. He sips casually at his wine; the deep red of the liquid stains his mouth.

“He could so _easily_ be harmed.”

As her grandfather’s words register, a terrible shiver runs down her spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)   
>  [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags--there's some pretty blatant talk here about things both Rey and Hux went through as children.

Reality sets in slowly over dinner. The truth dawns bit by bit, bite by bite, leaving Rey with the worse sense of dread she’s ever experienced. She struggles to stay calm over the meal, struggles to do anything that doesn’t involve running. The moment her grandfather excuses her from the table, she doesn’t hide the way she rushes to the turbolift. Her pace doubles along the way. Maybe triples. She’s nearly shaking with anticipation and the absolute need for the turbolift to go faster as she takes a snail’s trip down to her own floor. She rushes out the compartment when the doors open and in the space of a breath, she slams her balled fist against Ben’s bedroom door over and over again. It feels like the world might end if he doesn’t let her in.

Maybe it’s impulsive, but at least if she’s going to be impulsive, she’ll do something _good_ with it.

After everything she’s done, the least she can do is keep him safe.

“Ben! Ben, get out here! You need to let me in right now!”

He doesn’t open up. For all she knows, he’s not even here. He may have left for an evening out, thinking she’d be upstairs for longer. She huffs out a breath and paces in front of his door while her heart thuds. She has to get in. She has to. Maybe she’s imagining things, maybe she’s reading into a poorly worded comment, maybe this isn’t necessary, but she can’t trust _maybe._ Sucking up her courage or nerve or whatever’s urging her on, Rey turns and pounds on the door again.

“Ben, _open the door._ If you don’t let me in, I—”

The door slides open. She almost wishes it hadn’t.

Ben’s scowling at her, a towel bunched and held around his middle. His hair drips onto his shoulders. "What? What couldn’t wait until I finished showering?”

The wounds she gave him are scarring over terribly, even with the help of bacta. 

_It’s a pity he has such a dangerous job._

“Well? What do you want?” Ben snaps. He gestures down at himself, at his still-wet body. “I thought you were due for dinner with your grandfather tonight.”

She can’t say it. She’s already so alone, and if he leaves— 

_You must worry for his safety._

Ben works his jaw, growing more annoyed by the minute. _Good,_ she thinks. He’s already angry. _That’s good._

“Seriously, Rey, I don’t have the patience for whatever game this is.”

There’s an ache in her chest as she stares at him, as she sees the concern in his eyes, the confusion on his face. She takes a moment to memorize him like this—the brief moment when he looks at her like _this_ and not like she’s a monster. There’s little compassion in his expression, but it’s the best she can hope for. She hopes she can memorize every bit. The shoulders she’s gripped, the hair she’s tangled her fingers through, the hands she’s trusted to hold her, the eyes she’s sunk into and found comfort in, the mouth she’s pressed hers to as a last wish before her possible death… it’s like time slows as she stares and remembers. Time warps, giving her precious moments to store an echo of what she’s about to lose and what she’s already lost. 

And she thinks, maybe… maybe she would have loved him, if she’d had the time.

Ben’s confusion seems to worsen. He presses his lips together, tilting his head down toward her. 

_Yes,_ she thinks. She would have loved him. It might have been twisted and wrong, it might have been destructive, it might have been a curse on them both, but he would have been hers, and he would have been enough.

But time speeds, catching back up to the present as Ben grabs her shoulder, squeezing it just enough to get her attention. “Hey, is everything okay? What’s wrong? Did something happen at dinner?”

_He could so easily be harmed._

It’s horrible. Unforgivable, maybe, but she knows what she has to do.

“You’re fired,” she breathes out. The words are simple. Simple and terrible. “You need to vacate the apartment. Immediately.”

Whatever he must have expected, that wasn’t it. His eyes widen in surprise, then narrow with disbelief. 

“Excuse me?”

She tightens her fist behind her back, focusing on the feeling of her nails in her palm. “You’re fired. Go back to Alderaan. I want you off this planet.”

Ben huffs. He lets go of her, bracing a hand against the door frame, and gives her an odd look. “What, you’re unhappy with my service? Such a shame it was your grandfather who hired me. You _can’t_ fire me. I don’t know what your goal is here, but—”

Her next words get choked out and taste like a bitter poison. “I never cared about you,” she interrupts, hating the obvious desperation that’s sinking into her voice. “I lied. I’ve just been alone most of my life, so when you came here I saw an opportunity and you were convenient, so—“

Ben silences her with a hand. “I don’t know why you’re saying this shit, but I don’t buy it. I don’t know if you’re purposely trying to hurt me, but it’s fucked up, and— _”_

“I’m being honest,” she insists. “You’re rude, insufferable, judgmental, I don’t _like_ you. The— the only reason I got close to you was because you were here. I expressed this to my grandfather, and he agreed to hire someone else, so _leave._ ”

He grimaces as he glances away, and it _hurts,_ hurting him. Gods, it hurts.

She’s felt so many kinds of pain—the aching pain of starvation, the clawing pain of severe thirst, the dull throbbing pain of slowly healing injuries, the breathtaking pain of being terrified and alone, but this is something else. This is something much worse than all of that. She hadn’t realized another person’s pain could be one of the worst things she’s felt.

Rey does whatever she can to keep her voice steady as she doubles down. “You need to move out,” she says firmly. “You’re no longer welcome here. Pack your things and go.”

Tears prick at her eyes.

“What’s going on?” he finally asks, glancing back to her. “What happened? Why _now?_ If you’ve really wanted me gone, why now? Why didn’t I get fired a week ago, or a month ago?”

She shakes her head and tries to blink away the tears. It doesn’t work, and it’s infuriating.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re fired, Ben. You need to leave before I get security up here,” she hisses. “There’s nothing here for you. Get out of my apartment. Get _off_ my planet.”

He eyes her closely. “You need to tell me what’s going on, and you better have an excellent reason for saying this shit.”

“Why won’t you listen to me?” Rey snaps. She’s trying to help, trying to do the right thing, trying to keep him _safe, so why won’t he just go?_ “Why are you being so difficult about this? You want nothing to do with me, and I’m telling you that’s mutual, so why don’t you just do what I’m asking and leave?”

Ben’s expression twists into a scowl. “Because you aren’t making sense! _Yes,_ you’ve given me plenty of reasons to be angry with you, but this is the first time you’ve gone out of your way to do it!”

“Then leave,” she sneers. “I wish you would. I don’t want you here.” It squeezes her heart, maybe rips her apart when she works out the worst lies she’s ever told. “The thought of being with you makes me sick. I hated every minute in your company—I can’t believe you had the nerve to put a courting braid in my hair.”

That seems to startle him; it seems to hit him like a blaster shot, making him recoil.

He opens his mouth as if to reply, but he only gulps in a breath and looks away.

“Rey, I don’t know what’s going on,” he says, sounding defeated. “I’m… going to go.” His eyes meet hers, and it’s a feat to hold back tears when he says, “I don’t understand you. I thought— Rey, I stayed. That wasn’t easy for me after what happened, but I thought you needed that. And maybe I’m angry, and maybe I don’t know how to forgive you or even if I should, but I _stayed._ I thought that meant something to you. We both know why I stayed. It wasn’t the money, it wasn’t just to get information, and I think you know I was lying when I claimed it was.”

_He could so easily be harmed._

“I don’t care,” she chokes out, “I wish you hadn’t stayed. And now I want you to leave. I’d rather be alone than be with you.”

She thinks she can see the heartbreak and disappointment in his eyes. 

But it works; fewer than ten minutes later, when she’s sitting on the living room couch clutching her knees to her chest, she hears the turbolift doors open and close. She covers her mouth to muffle a sob that finally comes when she finds his room empty of his belongings.

Part of her wonders if it’s the worst thing she’s done, or if she’s finally done something right. _Right_ shouldn’t feel so terrible, but… but heartbroken and disappointed must be better than harmed. 

At least, that’s what she tells herself.

\--*--

Days pass while the world slowly realigns. She spends minutes, hours, countless units of time staring at nothing, just _processing._ Thinking, trying not to be hopelessly sad. Letting her mind spin and try to find a new normal or figure out a way to explain away the things that have happened. It strikes her one morning as she refills her caf mug—the one Ben once stole, she remembers, with a pang in her chest—that her life alone in the apartment is much like her life was before a young Armie moved in. It should be a luxury to have the space to herself. There’s nobody to steal her mug, nobody to complain when she uses their bath, nobody to invade her space and impose their rules. 

In short, it’s devastatingly lonely.

She spends more than one stretching afternoon convincing herself she misunderstood her grandfather’s words. _He could so easily be harmed_ could have simply been a fact. It’s true. Bodyguards must get injured often. Perhaps her grandfather was expressing concern, maybe he cares, maybe he’s worried Ben could get hurt protecting her and maybe he’s worried she’d be upset. But by the fifth time Rey’s tried to tell herself that, she leans back against a kitchen counter and considers the alternative.

Ben told her to listen to her instincts, and her instinct on this is painfully clear. As much as she wants to believe her grandfather meant well and intended to express concern… she doesn’t believe it. Not for a moment.

The realization is simple and startling. Terrifying, even if she should feel relief at knowing Ben is now far, far away. She paces frantically for what feels like hours, trying to imagine a world where she _knows_ and _believes_ her grandfather would threaten someone she cares about, a world where he isn’t _good,_ a world where he isn’t just a somewhat neglectful grandfather, where— 

It sinks in, the things she’s done. The bridges she’s burned, the lies she’s proclaimed to the media, all the terrible things she could excuse when she believed he meant well and would do _good._ Her mind dredges up the memories of threatening Armie, of urging people to vote for the _great Senator Palpatine,_ of spending days worth of her life hoping with all of herself that the man would spare just a moment of time for her. 

She spent years imagining her family. Years, imagining a mom and a dad, neither wealthy with money, but overflowing with love. She spent years believing they’d be the kind of parents who would love her, just love her. Love her for exactly what and who she is, and not what she can do for them. Love her, not gently pat her shoulder when she occasionally pleases them. Love her _,_ even when she upsets them. _Love her,_ even when she isn’t exactly what they want. 

Rey goes utterly still when she admits the truth—the truth she should have known so much sooner.

“He doesn’t love you,” she whispers to an empty room, months (maybe years) too late. She tests the words, feeling the heartbreaking truth in them. “He isn’t your family.”

Her mug shatters when it hits the floor.

She winds up curled up in Armie’s old bed, sobbing like the nightmare-having child she used to be, only now there’s no one left to care for or comfort her, and it’s her fault.

The tears come faster and more easily as the truth sinks further and further in, solidifying in her mind.

As days pass, she stops bothering to do much more than sleep or cry. She misses another interview, misses a public appearance, misses one of her grandfather’s speeches. She laughs almost hysterically through choked tears at the message from one of his aides, a message that contains three occurrences of the word _disappointed._ Maybe she should try to figure out what her grandfather’s up to, maybe she should try to get out and get help of some sort, but a deep sense of exhaustion settles in like a heavy weight pulling her down. She stops caring if her tunic has a small red wine stain on it, stops caring if her hair is a mess, stops checking her messages. She stops caring about her grandfather’s silly deadline—whatever he’s up to, she’s _done_. 

Armie and Ben are safe from him now. If he plans to discipline her somehow, there’s nothing left for him to take.

She’s given away the things she cares about, set them free from her cage, and after what she’s done… maybe she deserves whatever he’ll dole out.

\--*--

“Rey _Palpatine,_ you absolute nightmare of a person, we need to talk.”

She jerks awake, startled so thoroughly she almost chucks the knife she’s clutching to her chest—the one she sleeps with, as though it’s a tragic stuffed animal. She pants for a moment, thinking it was part of a dream, until she sees someone step into the bedroom she’s taken up residence in.

_“Armie?”_

It’s almost more likely that he really _is_ part of a dream. An awful dream, here to remind her she picked the wrong people to care about.

With a messy mop of red hair and deep circles under his eyes, it’s clear he’s been sleeping about as well as she has. His mouth is curled into a grimace, his voice exhausted as he mutters, “I don’t know how anyone could put up with him. The man is a human disaster. Really, you’ve got excellent taste. He’s almost as awful to live with as _you.”_

Rey tilts her head, wincing as she notices her headache. “What? What’s going on?”

 _“Solo,_ who else!” Armie snaps. “I can’t get a minute’s rest now that he’s around! But that’s not why I’m here, he’s just… very frustrating.”

“I’m clearly missing something.” She pauses, realization settling in when she sees Armie take a seat on the edge of his own bed. Her voice is rough as she says, “Armie, you shouldn’t be here. Not that I don’t want you to be, but— but I don’t think it’s safe.”

It seems to catch him off-guard. His expression turns sympathetic. Sad, maybe. “Ah. We’ll talk. If you still feel that way after, I’ll go.” He gives her a long look. “I suppose it’s good to know you’ve survived on your own,” he admits. Scanning her, he grimaces. “Though, _survived_ may give you more credit than you deserve. I’ve heard you’ve missed quite a few appearances. I’ve been asked to come here and scold you, but… when’s the last time you slept properly? Ate a decent meal? _Showered?”_

Rey offers a half-hearted shrug. “What day is it?”

The only answer he gives is a groan, and a whisper of, “Gods, we’re all a mess.”

At the word _we,_ concern wells in her. “What were you saying about Ben? Have you heard from him?”

Armie huffs. “You could say that, I suppose.” He glances over at her, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been sleeping on his ship, the Falcon? When you kicked him out, he took up residence on the ship, too. So I hope it’s been lovely for you, having this apartment to yourself. I’ve had to share a dilapidated ancient piece of garbage with a dramatic, moping man I have little interest in sharing _anything_ with.”

“He’s still on Coruscant?” she breathes out. “I told him to leave, he can’t still be here.”

“Well, I think—” Armie hesitates mid-sentence, then frowns over at her. “What do you mean he can’t be here? Be specific.” 

She bites her mouth closed. In a whisper, she admits, “It might be safer for you both if you don’t know. But please, Armie, you both need to leave, it isn’t—”

“No, you don’t get to do that,” he interrupts. “We’re done doing that. That ends right now.” Her eyes widen at him, and he gestures between them, “You and I? We don’t keep secrets now. You have _no_ idea, the things I’ve kept from you in the name of keeping you safe, and all it ever did is lead you to make terrible decisions. So you’ll tell me everything, and then I’ll tell _you_ everything. No more shouldering things ourselves. I’m told that’s not what a family does.”

It’s the word _family_ that rattles her.

“But… don’t you hate me?” 

Armie’s response is immediate. “I’m not sure I could ever hate you. Lately, I’m struggling to recognize you, but that doesn’t mean I hate you. I don’t like some things we’ve said to each other, and I’m quite worried to see you sleeping next to a set of _knives—_ don’t think we won’t discuss that—but I think it means that, more than ever, you need someone who loves you. And I love you.”

“But you left,” she murmurs, not even caring that it makes her sound like a child.

“I needed time,” he nods. “And I thought you had Ben. Frankly, I still need time, but I dislike you being here alone and I’m thinking you’ll be easier to be around than _him_. Besides, do you realize that ship only has a sonic shower?” He cringes. “I can’t continue subjecting myself to that. It’s a wonder I lasted as long as I did.”

Rey blinks at him, and what bubbles up in her throat is—somehow— _laughter._ It comes along with a few relieved tears. As she wipes at her eyes, she says, “I really missed you.”

He gives her a small smile. “And I missed you. But you haven’t been _you_ lately.”

“I’m not sure what to say to that,” she admits. Her shoulders sink. “Other than _I’m sorry._ But Armie, as glad as I am to see you, I don’t think you can be here. I’m not sure I care what happens to me, but please, all I want is to make sure you’re safe.” She shudders out a breath, covering her face with her hands, and works out the words, “I’ve realized how much danger I put you in—put you both in. I didn’t know how dangerous he was, I didn’t—”

Armie squeezes her shoulder. “Not here.” He glances around, grimacing at the mess of pillows, blankets, discarded wine bottles, and sighs deeply. “First things first. We’re ordering takeout and we’re drawing you a bath, during which you won’t say a peep about the face-mask I put on you. You’re going to let me brush and deep condition your hair. You’re a mess, and after everything, the least you can do is indulge me. Rather than your usual complaining, you’ll fill me in on everything. Absolutely _everything_ you’ve kept from me. Understand?”

“Okay,” she whispers.

The firm but sympathetic expression that takes over his face is overwhelmingly familiar, and Rey doesn’t even realize she’s crying again until he reaches over and wipes at her eyes.

“Gods, you’re a mess.” He shakes his head, stands, and holds out a hand to her, gesturing toward the fresher. “Come on. It’s going to be okay.”

She has to put down the knife to take his hand.

\--*--

Mycosia flower-scented water sloshes gently at the edges of the tub. The steaming water quells every little ache she’s spent a week or two ignoring, and a thin mask of blue muck covers her face. Her hair is piled on top of her head, brushed through with a thick conditioning cream. The care and attention is simultaneously annoying and something she in no way deserves. Armie keeps muttering about her tears messing with the mask, but the way he smooths it over her face is tender.

When he’s done fussing, Armie sits on a small bench opposite her, next to the other end of the tub. He seems pleased she hasn’t made a peep at his mothering.

“So,” he starts, gesturing to her. “Tell me everything. Start with Ben. I’ve heard plenty from him thanks to a now-empty bottle of Corellian whiskey, but I think he’s uninformed on your motives. He seems to have convinced himself you were simply lashing out, but I think there’s more to it. I want to know if it’s what I suspect.”

Rey bites at her mouth, trying to determine how much to say.

“I sent him away.”

Armie’s look turns withering. “Yes, I think I figured that out myself when he showed up and invaded my daily life on that mess of a ship. Frankly, you sending him away is what gave me hope, but you need to tell me why you did it. _”_

She opens her mouth to tell him, then shuts it and frowns. “What if telling you puts you in more danger?”

“I’m already in plenty of danger,” he mumbles, not offering an explanation.

He waits for her to talk, and as hesitant as she is, maybe it could help, telling someone. Swallowing, Rey admits, “Someone threatened to hurt him if I didn’t accomplish something. I thought sending him away would be a good way to keep him safe. I told him to leave Coruscant and… and I said a lot of awful things I didn’t mean to make him leave.”

“I heard.” Armie tilts his head. “Someone. _Something._ Rey, I need details.”

“I don’t think I can _—”_

“Rey,” he interrupts. “If I’m going to be honest with you about all of this, I need to know everything. Details. Names. I need to know if I can trust you.”

It’s almost too terrifying to say, but she stares at where her bent knees brush against the surface of the water and breathes out, “Grandfather. He… he didn’t come right out and say it, but he told me he’d be disappointed if I failed him, and he made a comment about how he’d noticed I’ve grown close to Ben, and how I must be worried he has such a dangerous job. Then he said _he could so—”_

Her own sob interrupts her words. She buries her face in her hands, grimacing at the blue muck face mask she’s already forgotten about.

“ _He could so easily be harmed,”_ she repeats. “That’s what he said. I know it wasn’t an explicit threat, but it felt like one. Maybe I should have taken more time to be sure I wasn’t overreacting, but my gut said it was a threat and I couldn’t take the risk. I’ve spent the last week—maybe longer, I don’t know—trying to convince myself it was an overreaction, but—”

“It wasn’t,” Armie confirms gently. “I’m certain you interpreted correctly.”

Her gaze cuts to his. Her brow furrows. “Why aren’t you more surprised?”

“Oh, Rey.” He wipes a hand down his tired face. “We have so much to discuss. Tell me the rest first.”

She sniffs, ducking her hands back under the water to wash the blue cream off them. “After that, I rushed back here and fired Ben. Or, well…” she cringes. “I did more than that. I— I—” 

Armie nods as though he knows what she’s going to say. “You burned the bridge?” he finishes for her.

“You could say that.”

“Right,” he sighs. “What did Senator Palpatine ask of you?”

“He asked me to find his datapad.”

That seems to surprise him. “Datapad? That’s it? Did he lose it?”

“It was stolen,” she says lowly. “And I know who has it, but I didn’t tell him.”

Armie’s quiet for a long moment. “Okay,” he whispers. “I need to know if he told you what’s on the datapad, and I need to know who has it.”

A terrible feeling creeps over her. There’s a subtle shake to her voice as she says, “Please tell me he didn’t send you here to get that information from me. I know you work for him and you’ve done unethical things in the name of his campaign, but _please—_ ”

“Oh, gods no,” Armie interrupts, his eyes wide. “No, it’s nothing like that.” He hesitates, as if debating something. “Rey, can I trust you with this? If I tell you the truth about your grandfather, if I tell you the truth about everything I’ve done? Can I trust you with that?”

She sniffs, perching her chin on her knees. “You can trust that I’m _furious_ I had to say those things to Ben, and that… Armie, he threatened someone I care about. I don’t… I don’t know if I understand, but I _want_ to. I don’t think he’d have done that if he loved me. I don’t think family does that.”

Sympathy flashes across his face. “Okay,” he nods. “I’ve been feeling guilty I didn’t tell you earlier. I know the things you’ve done have been your choice, but I can’t help but feel you may have done things differently if I’d told you the truth. I never did because you seemed so convinced Senator Palpatine was _family_ and _good,_ and I thought if I tried to open your eyes you’d run and tell him. And…” his throat bobs. “And honestly, Rey, he would have had me killed for it.”

Her breath flows out all at once. What’s painful is that it’s not as much of a surprise as she wishes it would be.

“He really would have, wouldn’t he?”

Armie nods. “I think so. I’ve known of some of his illegal actions—the intimidation, the blackmail, the corruption—for quite a while, but it would be his word against mine. It’s difficult to obtain proof without putting either of us in danger.” After a pause, he adds, “That’s why I’m hoping you truly know where this datapad is. If he’s desperate to recover it, it may contain evidence of what he’s done. So please, tell me. Who has it?”

“I wish I could tell you,” she whispers. “But I’ve fucked up a lot of things by saying things I shouldn’t. I think grandfather only knew about Ben and I because I slipped and said something in front of Lady Carise.”

He covers his mouth with his hand, closing his eyes like he’s thinking through something. Rey waits for him to speak, and when he finally does, his words are full of regret. “That wasn’t how your grandfather knew. There are security cameras throughout most of this apartment,” he admits. “There’s a reason we’re having this conversation in a bathroom, and not in a common area. He doesn’t review everything thoroughly, but it seems I failed to delete specific recordings before he… found out.”

Rey goes rigid at the implication.

“Are there cameras in the living room?” she asks, her voice low. 

“Yes.”

An ice cold wave washes over her. “ _Why?”_

“Many reasons, I’m sure,” Armie sighs. “None of which he’s shared, but he had a droid monitoring us. I only found out recently.”

“Oh my _gods,”_ she blurts. “You saw Ben and I? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He winces. “Trust me when I say I had it deleted as soon as I realized the recording’s content, but in my defense, I didn’t realize you’d be having sex in a common area. You’ve never even had an interest in dating before, I didn’t realize—”

“That’s _hardly_ relevant!”

“In this case it’s _very_ relevant,” Armie argues. “Let’s consider what would have happened if I’d told you. You would have gotten angry with your grandfather, correct? Maybe you would have stormed upstairs and demanded they be taken down. In the best-case scenario, he has technicians make a show of removing them and then plants them somewhere else. Worst-case scenario, he has me killed for telling you, or he has _you_ killed for bothering to fight him on something. The sad reality is, Rey, you are only useful to him while you aren’t causing him trouble.”

“You could have at least warned me not to have sex there,” Rey hisses. It’s easier to focus on the anger than it is to be reminded how little she must matter to her grandfather.

Armie gives her a dry look. “Pardon me, I thought you’d be polite enough not to do _that_ on a surface we watch holovids on. Did you at least have it professionally cleaned?”

“Sure,” she laughs humorlessly, “Sure, yes, sometime between the fucking _coup_ and finding out my grandfather is secretly evil, I had the couch cleaned, just for—”

He interrupts, waving her off. “Back to the datapad.”

Rey pauses to collect her thoughts, and it’s _tempting,_ so tempting to just tell him and hope he helps, but she shakes her head. “If I tell you, it could hurt someone I care about.”

His expression softens. “Rey. I’m assuming your love for your grandfather has waned, so I’m fairly sure you only care about two people.”

“I know.”

It takes him a minute, but he says, “Senator Organa has it, doesn’t she? This is the thing you mentioned in her office, the thing Mon Mothma gave her?”

“I’ve hurt that family terribly,” she says in a warning hush. “Ben will never forgive me as it is and I don’t want to put anyone in more danger. Stay out of it.”

He covers his face with his hands, letting out a quiet groan. 

“Rey, I can’t stay out of it. I’m very much involved already.”

Her eyes narrow. “How?”

“I _worked_ for Mon Mothma,” he blurts. “I’d been passing her information for months before she died.”

The world tilts. His late nights, his vague answers whenever she asked about work, his meetings with Mon Mothma’s team… so many little details snap into place. 

Rey gapes at him, and flicks water in his direction. “You’re a _spy?”_ she accuses, scowling.

“I’m not sure I like the term,” he snaps back. “But is that such a bad thing now that you know about your grandfather?”

“Gods, what is going on,” she blurts. She sits back in the water, folding her arms over her chest. “Is this why Ben suddenly started trusting you? He found out you were working for a friend of his mother’s?”

Armie hesitates, sighing as he buries his head in his hands. “This is a kriffing mess. _Yes,_ Ben found out. As far as I’m aware, now that Mon Mothma’s dead, he’s the only one who knows and honestly, I’m not even sure he knows how involved his own mother is in this. He found out about me when he needed my help to get you and Ap’lek home from one of the lower levels. Ap’lek was giving us quite a bit of trouble, so I… “ He stops, gnawing at his bottom lip as though he’s about to own up to something massive, which he _maybe_ is. “I proved to him that _I’m_ the person he’s been working for. Ben insisted I explain, and I weighed the risks, then filled him in.”

She does a double-take. “Wait, excuse me? What do you mean, you were the person Ap’lek was working for?” 

“I hired the Knights of Ren,” he admits quietly. “They’ve been doing jobs for me on Coruscant. Jobs we can discuss… later. I’ll tell you, but right now we have bigger problems.”

“I— so— but, why did he act like he didn’t know you while I was questioning him?”

“Ap’lek knew not to say it in front of you. I didn’t know if I could trust you to not tell your grandfather.”

Her words come out in an oddly plain voice. “You hired a criminal gang.”

Armie nods patiently. “I had good reason for it.”

“You worked for Mon Mothma and slipped her information concerning my grandfather, and you _hired a criminal gang of murderers."_

He tilts his head at her disbelieving tone. “This doesn’t feel like something you get to judge me for. Not after—” he gestures flippantly at her, “All of that. Everything you’ve done recently. You don’t even know my reasoning.”

“Please,” she waves, “Explain. _Everything.”_

He huffs. “You first. Who has the datapad?”

Rey’s eyes meet his, and for a long moment, her expression turns pleading.

“I’m much less of a danger to Ben and his family than you are,” Armie says gently. “I promise you, if the Organa family has it, I’m only going to help them.”

When she still shows hesitation, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “What do I need to tell you for you to believe me? Do I need to tell you how much I hate your grandfather? Do I have to tell you what a corrupt, horrifying person he is? Do I need to make it personal, tell you what he’s done to me?” He looks at her, his face screwed up into a terrible wince, and he admits, “ _Rey,_ you know I why I left home, but you know just as well as I do that there are ways to abuse a person that aren’t simply physical. Maybe I saw it better than you did—I was older, I was a little harder to manipulate, but kriff, Rey, wanting to be on his side is not the hill to die on, I promise you.”

“I’m not defending him,” she argues. “I just don’t know who I can trust right now, and I’m _trying_ to do the right thing for you and Ben, but I don’t know what the right thing looks like.” 

“Perhaps you should start with trusting the only person who’s never blackmailed you into doing something for them. Perhaps you should start by trusting the person who’s still here, despite all the reasons you’ve given me to leave.”

Rey lets out a breath. Her shoulders sag. “Yes, Mon Mothma handed it off to Senator Organa. As far as I know, Senator Organa sent it to Ben’s father, who I assume is on Alderaan. But Armie, I swear to the gods, you better be telling me the truth.”

He gives her an odd look that melts into something almost soft. “I’m telling you the truth. Why don’t you ask me? Ask whatever you want. I’ll tell you the truth, and if you somehow catch me in a lie—which you won’t—you can feel free to use those knives you left on my bed.”

Rolling her eyes, Rey leans back against the wall of the tub, sliding down until the bubbles are near her chin. Finally, she comes up with a question. “I overheard a conversation one morning. Between you and Ben. He was saying I’d be upset about something, and you told him to stay out of it. He asked you _is he really worth it?”_

Armie nods. “Palpatine. Ben suspects quite a bit regarding Senator Palpatine’s illegal activities, and he was under the impression I was committing crimes for your grandfather and potentially putting you in danger.”

“And were you?”

There’s a pause, and then a nod. “I needed Senator Palpatine to trust me. You have to understand, he raised me to work for him. Though, _groomed_ may be a better term. I was— _am_ —one of his most trusted staff members. As such, I’m privy to a considerable amount of information.” Then, softly, “Information I shared with his opposition when I started realizing what the galaxy would look like under his control. He’s not aware of it yet, but I’m sure it’ll come out sooner rather than later that I’m the inside source. I’ll need to be off-planet when that happens. We both should be, I think.”

Rey swallows. “What’s he done, exactly? What’s the worst?”

He’s quiet for a concerning amount of time. When he speaks, his answer is careful. “I’m too biased to answer that.”

“How so?”

“I think, if provided a list of all the definitively bad things your grandfather’s done throughout the course of his lifetime, most people would disagree with me on which action is worst.”

It’s a vague answer. Her eyes narrow at him. “Why aren’t you telling me? Even if it’s horrifying, why can’t you—”

“You,” Armie blurts. “Your childhood, the way he’s used you, the things he did to you. Maybe you’re too close to see it, maybe you never realized what real _love_ looked like before you and I grew close, but I saw it. I saw it, and I hated myself for prioritizing my own safety, and later, my ability to get information. Anyone unbiased would say he’s done worse, but you asked my opinion, and that’s it.”

“I— I’m sure he’s done worse,” she stammers, staring down at her bare knees. “He’s been harsh with us, of course, hasn’t spent much time with either of us, but—”

“Rey. It was more than that, and you know it.”

The steady facade she’s gripping onto wavers. “I don’t think—”

“It was abuse.”

“I don’t want to—”

“It wasn’t just neglect. I think pretending that’s all it was fucked us both up.”

“Let’s move on, this isn’t—”

He interrupts, his voice thick with emotion. “If you’re about to tell me this isn’t relevant, I’m telling you, you’re wrong. You asked me the worst thing he’s done. I’m telling you. He stole an orphan from Jakku—a girl who spent her days doing whatever she could just to get enough rations to _survive_ , and he locked you in here and made sure he was the only person providing what you needed. Let me tell you, Rey, my father might be a bastard who’s a little too eager to dole out physical discipline, but he never figured out my biggest fears and preyed on them.”

Every word is a dagger.

“Don’t you remember when I moved in and insisted I’d handle the shopping, that you were consistently surprised at a full conservator?” Armie prods. “Don’t you remember how I had to convince you it was fine to eat meals without him there, and that you didn’t have to ask permission to enter the kitchen? He wasn’t _forgetting_ you, he wasn’t being negligent—that was very much on purpose. He had you associating him with _not starving._ It’s not a wonder you got so attached. _”_

Armie pauses only long enough to let out a shuddering breath. _“_ Gods, I realized it when I started asking you more questions, and Rey, I’m not exaggerating when I say it broke my heart. It tore me up. I’ve wanted to strangle him for it, he—”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone. She wants to sink into herself, curl up and _forget._

He sighs. “I think that’s part of the problem. You try to forget it happened, and I understand. I do, believe me. But you asked me the worst thing he’s done, and from my point of view, that’s it. Rey, he’s manipulated you so heavily into following him blindly that you nearly killed me while insisting on trying to save him. If I’m going to trust you and help you, I need to be sure you realize that. I need to be sure you realize he’s not the person here who loves you.”

There’s a difference between knowing and _knowing._ It’s the same as the difference between being educated enough to be aware that there are levels of Coruscant that have barely breathable air, and actually _visiting_ those levels and choking on the dust and the soot.

The best she can muster up is a soft, “I know. I figured it out after he threatened Ben, but it doesn’t feel real. It’s hard to believe that my normal is a few planets away from everyone else’s normal. And…” her shoulders sag as she looks over them. “This is terrible, but part of me wishes things could go back to the way they used to be, with you and me living here, our biggest problems revolving around what to order for dinner.”

“That was never our biggest problem,” he says gently. “I just spent longer than I should have letting you think it was, so now I’m telling you the truth. Our biggest problem is that your grandfather is a terrible man, and we’ve both done unforgivable things for him whether we knew it or not. The truth is, he doesn’t feel a shred of love for either of us, no matter how much we’ve each wished that wasn’t true.”

Rey nods numbly. “I know.” 

They both go quiet for a long moment. Armie watches her patiently, waiting for a reply, and part of her knows her reply could be anything—could be full of anger, could be full of tears, could be full of accusations—but Armie would forgive any of it. Maybe _that’s_ love.

“I love you, you know,” she murmurs. “I keep remembering what I said to you about not being my family, but you’ve always been, even when I was mad at you. You were my family _especially_ when I was mad at you, even when I was mad at _me,_ at everything. Sometimes I think you’re the only person who knows me. You’re the only person who’s ever cared.”

It takes a moment, but he replies, “I’m not sure that’s true, but I _do_ care, and I _am_ your family.” He offers her the slightest smile when she looks up, and asks tiredly, “If I put together a plate of food for us, would you want to get out of the bath and watch a holovid? We have more to discuss, so much more you need to know, but I’m as exhausted as you look. We can resume after we get some sleep?”

“Yeah,” Rey sighs, realizing as he mentions it just how drained she is. It’s been a week or more since she’s felt anything but tired. “I have a lot of questions, but… yeah. That’d be good.”

She watches as Armie rises from his seat, turning toward the door, presumably to go get the takeout they left in the kitchen. In a whisper, she asks, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

He doesn’t even let her get out the explanation that she’s been hopelessly lonely, that her sleep has either been nonexistent or fraught with nightmares. His response is immediate, his voice swollen with understanding and compassion.

“Of course you can.”

Just that is enough to make her eyes well with tears.

\--*--

Her dried hair is tucked back into a messy braid she managed herself. It’s nowhere near as neat or meaningful as the one Ben once braided, but it’s not her buns, either. As she rests her head against the shoulder she’s used as a pillow for many nights, Rey struggles not to cry again. She’s fed, she’s _warm,_ she’s not alone, and all of it wells in her like bacta trying to heal her from the inside. 

Armie puts on a romantic holovid, one she’s seen a million times, so she closes her eyes and lets herself rest.

Before she drifts off to sleep, she dares to ask the one question she can’t wait until tomorrow to ask. 

“Is he okay?”

Armie tilts his head, frowning. It seems to dawn on him after a moment. “Okay, as in, safe from your grandfather? He’ll be fine for tonight. He’s got a mini-arsenal on that ship of his. We can figure it out tomorrow. I think I should probably fill him in on all of this, but—” He pauses then, realizing she’s still waiting for the rest of the answer. “Ah. That wasn’t what you meant.” He flattens his lips as though he would prefer not to answer, tightens his arm around her, and admits, “You did a number on him. When he finally told me everything, it was clear he didn’t know what to think. I wish I could tell you it’ll be fine once he knows everything. It might be, but I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

She sniffs, nodding against his shoulder. “That’s okay. I knew what I was doing when I said all of that. I only wish it’d been enough to get him off-planet.”

“You were protecting him,” Armie says softly. “You hurt him, but your reasons were good, I think. I’ve done the same to you, though maybe not so harshly. Still, I can’t fault you for it.”

“That doesn’t mean he won’t.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t. I’m biased enough that I’d forgive you almost anything, but I certainly shouldn’t be held as any sort of paragon of _good._ The two of us are a mess.” He tugs her a little tighter. “Sleep, Rey. We can figure it out in the morning. The world won’t end if you let yourself rest for a night.”

“You promise?”

He huffs a laugh. “Yes. Now sleep.”

“Grandfather gave me a deadline, you know,” she murmurs. “The start of Carnival Week. I didn’t care when I thought Ben was off-planet, but—”

“Carnival Week?” he interrupts, sitting up with a jolt and knocking her off his shoulder. “ _Carnival Week?”_

Rey props up on an elbow. “The start of it, yes. That gave me three weeks, so now… it must be a week and a half? Maybe?”

“Four days,” Armie breathes out. “You’ve really been out of it. Carnival Week starts in four days. They’re voting on his Military Creation Act the next day. That can’t be a coincidence.”

She’s been alone for nearly two-and-a-half weeks. It strikes her that her grandfather, just a floor above, never checked on her even after missed interviews and appearances, but that hardly surprises her now. Rey pushes the predictable twinge of pain aside. “Four days. So, in four days he’ll be expecting the datapad, and if I don’t have it…” She shudders at the thought. “What do we do? How does the vote tie into this?”

Armie gives a helpless shrug and then clears his throat. “We? Does that mean you want to help me? You understand the goal in everything I’ve done is to attain evidence to take down your grandfather, don’t you? You’re sure you’d be willing to help?”

“I don’t know what other choice I have,” she says honestly. Her gaze lands on her hands. She can’t help but still see the blood that isn’t there. “I don’t know what I am. I don’t know if I’m bad or evil or just disappointing, but whatever I am, I’d rather be on your side than his. _”_

The man next to her twines his hands with hers, and Ben’s words come back to her—words she didn’t fully understand before. _Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb._

“I think that’s the worst thing I’ve done, Armie.” Her voice is hoarse, her eyes swollen with unshed tears. She looks over at him, sniffling at his understanding expression. “I know I’ve killed people, I know I’ve done awful things, I know I’ve hurt and ruined others, but that’s not what I’m sorry for. I barely even regret any of that. Maybe I should, maybe that makes me terrible, but of all the things I’ve done, what I hate most is that I put my grandfather before my real family. He was never my family. I just didn’t want to see it.”

Before she can continue, her breath gets knocked out by a forceful hug. His arms tighten around her, his face buried in her shoulder, and that’s what it takes for her crying to start again in full. 

“I won’t do it again.” Her words are muffled by the hug. It’s almost impossible to believe he loves her after all she’s done, but he does. “I’ll pick you. I’ll always pick you. I’m sorry it took _this_ to see it.”

“Better late than never,” he chokes out in a sort-of laugh.

What she says next is terrifying. It’s a betrayal; it’s treason. It goes against everything.

“I’ll help you,” Rey promises. “If he needs to be taken down… we’ll do it together. I won’t let you do it alone.”

Armie leans back and stares at her like he can’t quite believe it.

Finally, he nods. “Together?”

She wipes her eyes, nodding back. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)  
> [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)  
> 
> 
> RE: Rey and Hux. Some things to keep in mind: neither of them are in a good place, neither of them are really what anyone would call "good", but people who do bad things can still have people they love.
> 
> Also, I previously said that Rey is the character who needs a redemption here, and I stand by that, but I'm also not writing her one at chapter 13 of 30. <3


	14. Chapter 14

Rey wakes in a strange new world.

It feels like she’s still in a heavy fog of sleep, even as she showers—at Armie’s insistence—and dresses in something that isn’t sleepwear for the first time in weeks. The hint of a fresh start to a routine is foreign and briefly uncomfortable, but it’s hard to ignore how much better she feels when she looks in a mirror and sees _herself._ Or at least, someone resembling the person she remembers. She’s even taken the time to brush out and haphazardly braid her hair. Part of her wishes she could duplicate what Ben braided, but… that doesn’t feel like _hers._

When she leaves his bathroom, Armie’s sitting on his bed, a tray of breakfast pastries and fruits beside him. 

“It’s best if we limit our time in the spaces your grandfather monitors,” he explains when he sees her confused frown. “We still need to discuss a few things, like how we’re moving forward in the next few days.”

“Joy,” Rey mutters. Despite how nicely she’s dressed in clean unwrinkled slacks and a fitted emerald sweater, she slumps onto the bed next to him and begins shoving a muffin in her mouth. Her mood isn’t fantastic, but she’s well-rested thanks to Armie, so she tries to keep the bitterness out of her tone. “Out with it,” she mumbles between bites. “Can’t be worse than yesterday. Unless you’re about to tell me you orchestrated the coup or something.”

“I think that was your grandfather,” Armie replies, sounding absurdly casual.

She doesn’t have the headspace to process that. Not right now. With a tired, numb shrug, she sighs, “Anything else I should know?”

“Mm, lots, I’m sure. Anyway, I think we need to bring Ben in on this.”

 _That_ gets her attention. Her gaze darts to him mid-bite. “What?’ she asks in a panic. “No. No, Armie, he needs to be far from this. I don’t want him involved in whatever we end up doing. It isn’t safe. Grandfather already threatened him, do we even know what he’d do if Ben started to work against him?”

Armie nods like he expected that reaction. “You want to keep this from him, to protect him?”

“Of course I do.”

He hums. “And don’t you see the problem with that? I tried to do exactly that with _you._ Look how well that turned out.” With a sigh, he sits up a little and explains, “Rey, like it or not, he’s already involved, even if he hasn’t realized it. He’s Senator Organa’s son, and she’s _certainly_ involved. His father has the datapad, and I highly doubt we’ll get to it without needing help from either Ben or his mother. As you said, Senator Palpatine threatened him—if you wanted to keep him safe and uninvolved, I’m sure it’s too late.”

Rey shrinks back into the pillow behind her. She wants to curl up and pretend none of this is real.

“Armie, I already worry about you,” she admits. “I don’t know how to handle worrying for both of you. I don’t want to—”

“The man’s trained to kill,” he interrupts dryly. “How many years did he spend as a Knight of Ren? He’ll be fine. More than that, he’ll be useful. We’ll need to contact his family anyway, the two of us can’t do this alone. Not bringing him in would be a terrible misuse of resources.”

“He isn’t a resource—”

She bites back the rest of her snap when Armie grabs her hand. He speaks gently. “Rey, the more help we have, the better. He would want to know. Believe me. Getting him involved is the right move. Wasn’t it good yesterday, when the two of us came clean and filled each other in?”

“Speaking of _filling each other in,_ ” Rey fires back, “You never told me why you hired the Knights.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I won’t change the subject if you don’t deflect the question.”

Armie groans, tossing a pillow in her direction. “I forgot how stubborn you can be. Fine. Yes, I hired the Knights.” He folds an arm over his chest and pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I knew there was criminal activity on Coruscant. More than the usual, I mean. I’d seen enough while working for your grandfather to suspect he was inciting crime as a scare tactic to push his increased security measures, but I couldn’t spend much time looking into it myself without drawing his attention. The Knights of Ren were recommended by Mon Mothma. Though, I suppose I can’t know if she was suggesting I hire them, or if she happened to bring them up in conversation, but the point is, they’re not only known for their ability to kill. They’re also known for their discretion.” He shrugs, saying, “Pay them enough and they won’t even ask who you are.”

“So you hired them to…” Rey gestures with a hand wave.

“Gather intel, mostly,” he finishes for her. “Senator Palpatine rarely leaves his office unattended, but I stole and I slipped the Knights what information I could, including a list of addresses and dates—those locations turned out to be Crimson Dawn safe houses and weapons caches along with the dates they’d be in use. Of course, the Knights took what little information I had and filled in the gaps. I didn’t ask how.”

The glance she gives him is a mix of dry and disbelieving. “I think you can assume they got information by torturing and killing people and then used that information to blow up buildings. You realize that, don’t you?” 

“Of course I know that.” He pauses, tilting his head before he shrugs again. “But if I learned anything from your grandfather, it’s not to get my hands dirty. I didn’t order deaths, and I didn’t ask how information was obtained. I simply passed it along or took enjoyment in knowing I was taking some small part in thwarting your grandfather. I may have also suggested to them they’d be paid extra for the destruction of multiple Crimson Dawn safe houses, but I never _ordered_ it.”

Rey huffs, about to tell him he has a hell of a lot of nerve for judging her for her actions, but then some of his words register. When they do, what’s left of her muffin drops to her lap.

“Wait. Are you saying Crimson Dawn works for grandfather?”

He pauses. “You hadn’t pieced that together yet?”

“Not _quite.”_

“Ah.” He winces, then clears his throat. “Rey, your grandfather’s either incited—directly or indirectly, I’m not sure yet—Crimson Dawn’s activities on this planet. Why do you think they were so angry with him in the Senate Chambers? You calling in CSF got their members killed or arrested, and your grandfather was all-too happy to doublecross them. He’s behind the coup. Haven’t you noticed how, since that day, his polling numbers have shot up? People are terrified into thinking his security measures are necessary. Did you notice how most of the senators who died in the Chambers supported Senator Organa?”

“Kriff,” Rey breathes out, slouching back. “That’s a lot of deaths just to win an election.”

Armie doesn’t reply, staying oddly quiet. She glances over at him, finding a look of concern marring his face. “There’s more to it,” he finally sighs. “I don’t know what, but he _must_ be planning something. My gut’s telling me we need to get that datapad. That night at the gala, that’s what they were looking for, wasn’t it? Look at how many people have died, all to keep that thing out of certain hands. There _has_ to be a reason for it.”

“So that’s where we go from here?” she asks softly. “That’s the goal? Get the datapad and hope there’s something on it?”

His half-hearted shrug isn’t encouraging. “Yes, but more importantly, I think we need to be off-planet by the time his deadline hits.” He looks over at her, his expression tired and weary. “You know him asking you to find it was a test, don’t you? If you fail that test—which, I assume, you will—I don’t know what he’ll do. He might kill you. I don’t know. He might just kill me to punish you. Me, or Ben.”

“I know,” she nods, though it’s still a struggle to accept or believe. She bites at her lip, then sits up on the bed and faces Armie, letting out a long breath. “Okay. We need to be off-planet within the next few days, then. And since the datapad is with Ben’s father, I assume we’ll leave this planet and go to… Alderaan? Assuming his father’s there? Let’s start with getting off-planet.”

“I can make that happen, but I’ll need time. Two days, maybe? We need to leave safely and quietly,” he explains. “We could be on a ship in the hour, but there’s no point in leaving if we’re just going to lead Crimson Dawn to the datapad, and _believe me,_ he’s having us both watched. But that’s fine—while travel arrangements are being made, I need to meet with Senator Organa, and you…” 

Armie’s words trail off, and his eyes fill with pity. “Rey, you need to act like nothing’s wrong. He wants you at an election debate today—that’s half the reason he sent me here yesterday. He’s furious that you’ve skipped so many scheduled appearances. I told him you’ve been ill, but he wants you there this afternoon.” At her panicked expression, he puts a hand on her forearm, promising, “Just for a day or two. You can do it. You can smile, nod, and promise him you’re close to finding the datapad. I’ll make sure we’re off-planet as fast as we safely can be. Just act normal.”

“Why can’t we just go now?” she blurts. “Why not commandeer a ship and go?”

“And be followed, and lead Crimson Dawn right to what your grandfather’s looking for? Do you really want to risk that? _Rey,_ think it through. We need _help._ Senator Organa is our best bet—you think we can just show up on her planet and demand to be taken to the... Prince Consort? Han Solo may have a criminal reputation, but on Alderaan he’s part of the royal family. Why do you think I keep saying we need Senator Organa on our side?”

She huffs out a swear. Shoving the rest of her muffin in her mouth, she mutters a garbled, “Smile and nod, then?”

“Was that even a sentence? Ah, such class, _such_ grace.” 

Rey gives him a dry look, and a rude hand gesture as she swallows. “Fuck off. You really expect me to _smile and nod?_ Now that I know what he’s done? How am I supposed to be around him, how am—”

“I don’t know,” Armie interrupts. “I’m sorry. I don’t. But you have to. Actually—” he pauses, seeming to think through something. “Actually, this could work in our favor. I’ll focus on getting us off-planet, and perhaps you could use this event as a chance to speak to someone on Senator Organa’s team, since I assume you’d prefer not to go through Ben.”

“What, so I’m going from murderer to some sort of covert spy?” Rey laughs nervously. “Great. That’s… great. This is an awful plan.”

Armie barely manages to contain an eye-roll. “An awful plan? That’s really something coming from you.”

“I guess I could talk to Poe,” she sighs, ignoring Armie. “He’s been helpful before, sort of. What would I do, set up a meeting?”

“Dameron’s her second-in-command,” Armie points out. “I think we could trust him, at least with vague details. Try to set up a meeting, maybe allude to important information the Senator may find useful. It’s not a lie, not really.”

Rey hesitates. “Senator Organa won’t want to see me.”

“Tell him it’s for me, then. Wait, no. Just say it’s for an informant, but don’t give him my name until we know Senator Organa’s willing to meet. And tell him… tell him it’s on behalf of Mon Mothma. That should get his attention. Though, I suppose if he’s hesitant, tell him whatever you need to. We _need_ to see her, and I’m sure they’ve ramped up her security.”

She nods, gnawing at the inside of her cheek at the realization that she has to see her grandfather again, and so soon.

“Smile and nod,” she breathes. “Okay. Okay.” 

\--*--

Rey is ready and waiting in formal clothes and a velvet-soft emerald cape when her grandfather arrives at the airspeeder landing, flanked by his robed guards. It’s been weeks since she’s seen him, and until this very moment, she hasn’t considered how to act in his presence.

 _Normal,_ Armie had said. _Normal._ Act _normal._

She digs crescents into her palm, but gives the man a polite nod as he approaches. He eyes the braid in her hair, but gestures for her to get into the speeder.

As he takes a seat next to her, Rey tries not to flinch—his hand lands on hers, his cobalt robes splay on the bench they share and brush against her, and she wants to scream. Her stomach flip-flops, an undercurrent of confused hatred thrums under her skin, and Rey is stuck in the terrible mess of not knowing exactly what normal looks like. It probably doesn’t include ripping her hand away from the man next to her, just before jumping out the airspeeder door. Similarly, it probably also doesn’t include smiling over at him like the happy little pet he must see her as. Whatever lies in the middle, Rey genuinely can’t fathom. She can only hope the trip is a short, uneventful one. It’s also a relief to remember they’re attending a debate—an event during which she’ll have zero contact with him.

But since _uneventful_ is hardly a word anyone would apply to her life as of late, it’s not a surprise when her grandfather decides to speak with her during the ride through a Coruscant airlane.

“Armitage informed me you’ve failed to leave the apartment because you’ve been unwell,” he begins. While she once may have once heard concern in that voice, now she only notices the subtle doubt and disapproval. “Dear Rey, tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“It’s nothing, grandfather.” She musters a smile. “Just a mild illness, but I appreciate your concern.”

His hand comes to rest on her knee. His grip tightens, just enough to hurt. “Tell me. I’ve been _so_ worried about you, dear. I heard you fired your bodyguard. I do hope that hasn’t been the cause of your upset.”

The utter revulsion at his touch and his lie that bubbles in her throat is hard to ignore. So she lets it out. Sort of.

“No, that’s not it at all. I’m struggling,” she blurts. It’s the first thing she can think of that doesn’t involve Ben. “I— I’ve been feeling like there’s something inside me, something dark and horrible. I don’t know if it’s always been there, but it’s _dark._ I’ve killed people and what bothers me is how _little_ it bothers me.” She softens her voice, a flood of false innocence slipping into the terrified and angry cracks. “You must be so disappointed in me, grandfather. I only want to be good. I want to help. I want you to be proud of me, but I don’t know how. I’ve tried so hard to find your datapad, but I hardly know where to start. I’m worried I may disappoint you, but I promise I’ll try my best.”

He replies gently, “Oh, dear girl. May I give you advice?”

His belief in her words is surprising, and a massive relief. Something malicious inside her croons at how easy it was to lie, at how _easily_ he—

The hand on her leg clenches hard enough to make her breath come out in an unexpected gasp. Her eyes widen at him, confusion welling in her and overtaking the dark glee. His fingers dig in, and tears prick at her eyes from the sudden sharp pain. 

“I— that _hurts,_ Grandf—”

His lips curl as he interrupts. “Your pathetic need for love makes you _weak,_ Rey.” 

He releases her, leaning back in his seat while she gapes at him, at the unprecedented physical assault. His mouth tilts into a terrible smile. “You still have compassion, dear. You still love. Perhaps it was a mistake to raise you and Armitage together, but I suppose it can’t be undone. I believe you may have been stronger, had you been raised alone. Less dependent. Less… needful.” He says the word like it’s an unspeakable curse. “Raising you with Armitage has spoiled you, softened you, but now, I’m far more concerned with your connection to Ben Solo. I worry he may be a worse influence on you than Armitage. He’s made you care, and he’s made you love, but much worse, he’s made you question the goodness in your actions. That’s dangerous, dear.”

“Goodness?” Rey whispers. “Grandfather, was it _good_ that I killed that—”

“Yes dear, it was,” he croons before she even gets to finish the question. “I was proud of you, Rey. You did so well in the senate chambers.”

She swallows. As subtly as possible, she shifts away from him on the seat. Her voice comes out faint and edged with terror she hopes he can’t hear. “Does that mean you love me, grandfather?”

Not even for the briefest moment does he look over at her. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t consider.

“I suppose you could say I appreciate who you could be.” His eyes finally find hers, and his expression is oddly warm for what he’s saying. “You only need to be that person, my Rey. Be the person you _could_ be. Do what I ask, and I’ll be so pleased.”

The temptation to bite back, to _make_ him state that he holds no love for her, is there. 

She knows it.

The weight of her blades strapped to her sides under her cape rests against her like a comforting way out. His guards are in in another airspeeder. It’s just the two of them, occupying this space.

She could do it. If recent events have taught her anything, it’s how easy death is. It’s a slide of a knife away, a draining of blood, a rasping final breath. In minutes, he could be lifeless and resting in a pool of his own blood on the airspeeder floor. She’d have an awful lot to explain upon landing, but— 

The chill in her chest, the _thing_ inside her that’s wrapped around her very _self_ and urged her on, whispers how easy it would be. He’s unprotected, he underestimates her. 

Gods, it’s tempting.

It wouldn’t solve all her problems, but it would solve at least one.

Her fingers twitch, inching toward the blade closest to one of her hands. It’d have to be quick, somewhere vital, somewhere— 

“Regarding the firing of your bodyguard,” he starts gently, oblivious to her thoughts, “I admit, I wonder about the timing. I believe I was informed of his firing the morning after our last conversation. Curious. It’s as though you think you’re capable of protecting the young man.”

Her hand comes to a halt.

The low laugh that comes from her grandfather is haunting. “You can’t, dear. My staff keeps a close eye on Ben Solo. They have explicit instructions on how to proceed, if necessary.” He pauses, glancing over at her. “You’d be much better served by not caring for him.”

Anger flickers in her chest, but fear—not for herself, but for _Ben—_ suffocates it like fire starved for oxygen. 

“What do you ask of me?” she stammers out.

“I gave you a task which I expect completed, but I now have an additional request. Though, I suppose it’s less a request and more a… well-intentioned warning.” He pauses, adding in a deceptively kind voice, “Let go of your compassion for him. It confuses you. You don’t need to be bothered by the things you’ve done, but I suspect Ben Solo has made you think you should be. He makes you weak. Let go of your attachment to him before you’re forced to. That is what I ask of you.” 

There’s a quiet moment, a moment thrumming with unspoken—or perhaps _spoken_ —threat. He seems content to wait for her reaction, as though this is a test.

Maybe he’s goading her. Maybe this is a game to him, maybe it’s a false threat just so she’ll cooperate.

But she can’t, _can’t_ risk Ben over a _maybe._

With a long exhale, Rey sinks back against her seat. The lie comes too easily.

“I will, grandfather. I promise. I already sent him away. I’ll… I’ll let go. I will. You’re right. He confuses me, and I don’t want to be confused. I’ll put him out of my mind.”

If her grandfather doubts her, it doesn’t show. He pats her knee in that horrible, nauseating way of his.

“Be sure you do,” he hums. “Before you’re made to.”

At his words, it feels like she can’t breathe.

\--*--

There’s a chill in the air of the Senate Building—a terrible location for this event, Rey can’t help but think. There’s something sinister about hosting a political debate on the very floor dead politicians and staffers were once piled on. Maybe the room has been hosting such events for lifetimes, but it feels sullied. She can’t look at the marble floor and not see blood. It isn’t there, of course, it’s been well-cleaned and long-forgotten by many. But it’s still there. Maybe it always will be.

Her cape stays on, even when a staffer offers to take it for her. It’s a comforting weight on her shoulders, and an additional layer to conceal the comfort of her knives. They’re starting to feel like more like a necessity, and less like a dangerous habit.

The room is swarming with security, a welcome change from her recent experiences in this space, and where the gala’s musicians once performed before a temporary dance floor, there’s a large stage set up, boasting two elaborate glass podiums. The audience assembled seems to be mostly friends, family, and staff members of her grandfather and Senator Organa. Them, and the press. At the realization that the place is _full_ of members of the press, Rey’s anxiety spikes. She’s dodged a dozen interview requests and has avoided leaving her apartment since the press decided she was their new favorite subject. Their focus seems centered on the two politicians politely—but stiffly—shaking hands between their podiums, but she doesn’t want to risk the inevitable cameras in her face.

She tucks her braid over the front of her shoulder, raises her hood, and doesn’t bother taking the seat in the front row that’s assigned to her. Instead, she steps back slowly, surveying the little audience for the entire reason she’s here. 

_Poe Dameron._

She’s tried reaching him on the com he gave her, but never received a response, and now it seems her best option is to find him in-person.

In the distance, a woman on the stage is saying, “Good afternoon. Thank you for being here for our last debate between the two candidates for First Senator. I’m Jysell Horne, your host for the afternoon. Before we get started, let me introduce—”

That’s when Rey spots him, standing just to the side of the stage. He’s in a modest suit of the same deep green Senator Organa’s wearing, standing a few feet from the stage steps, where an adviser or second-in-command normally would stand during one of these things. She should wait until a break, maybe even until the end of the debate, but her fingers twitch anxiously at her side, and she _can’t_ risk missing this opportunity. Especially if he’s intent to ignore her coms.

Sucking in a breath, she walks behind the audience, making a point to avoid any members of the press. She tries to slide in beside Poe as subtly as possible, and it seems to work—the audience’s attention seems entirely focused on her grandfather while he drones on about _peace and safety in the galaxy_ during his opening remarks. She tugs her hood a little lower, leaning toward Poe.

When he notices her, his eyes widen.

“Can we talk?” she whispers. “Somewhere… _away?”_

The look he gives her is stunningly cold. Every bit of warmth, every bit of jovial lightheartedness he’s ever shown her, is absent. “Not a chance.”

Rey frowns. “Please? It’s important.”

“Fuck off with your _it’s important._ Get out of here. You should be on the other side, by your grandfather.”

“I—”

He turns fully to her, mustering the most unnatural smile she’s seen on someone other than her grandfather. “Miss Palpatine, as you can see, I’m busy at the moment,” he says, his voice crisp and sharp around the edges. “We’ll have to discuss this another time. Please feel free to contact our office. We’ll respond at our earliest convenience, which will be never, because you sold out my boss to the press.”

Rey’s nose scrunches up with how she grimaces. “Could I at _least_ explain—”

“Explain what?” he hisses, quietly enough so only she’ll hear. “Explain how you fucked over my boss after I offered to help you? Maybe she didn’t tell the rest of the staff who leaked what happened, but she told me. I swear, you’re like a scourge on our campaign. Just being seen talking to you will fuck with our polling numbers, even though you already tanked them. Maybe half the press thinks you’re some sort of hero, but don’t think we’re all fooled, and don’t think for a minute I’m going to help you with anything.”

In a murmur, she says, “Actually, I think _I_ can help _you.”_

“Yeah, sure. Get lost.”

 _Kriff._ She bites her bottom lip, glancing around to make sure nobody’s listening, and then leans in, whispering over his shoulder, “There’s an informant who needs a meeting with Senator Organa. It’s about Mon Mothma. Senator Organa needs to hear what they have to say.”

He reacts as though she’s just announced she’s secretly a Wookie. He goes absolutely rigid, and then wheels around at her, disregarding the fact that they’re near the stage and probably being noticed. For a painfully long moment, he stares at her with wide eyes, like he’s trying to decide if she’s lost her mind. Maybe she has.

“Oh my gods, get out of here,” he whisper-shouts. “Kriff, what the—”

As subtly as he can probably manage, he herds her away from the stage, not even stopping to offer an apology when Senator Organa notices the movement and halts in her answer to the crowd. The woman pauses only for a few seconds before she clears her throat and returns to a rather pointed comment regarding how necessary it is to help establish smaller, more local governments on planets such as Tatooine, where the Hutts dismantle any attempt at a government as it pops up.

She doesn’t hear much more before Poe ushers her out onto a balcony— _the same_ _balcony,_ she realizes with a twinge in her gut. The same balcony she almost kissed Ben on, before they heard the screams.

The moment the doors are shut tight behind them, Poe utters, “What the _fuck._ Care to explain?”

“An informant needs to speak to Senator Organa on Mon Mothma’s behalf,” she repeats.

Poe’s gaze turns into a glare. “And you don’t think _y_ _ou_ giving me that message maybe deserves an explanation? _You?_ The granddaughter of the guy who probably had Senator Mothma killed in the first place?”

“Oh good,” she sighs, sagging back against the stone half-wall behind her. “You already know.”

“ _Already knew?_ I—I didn’t _mean_ that, I just meant—” He freezes, gesturing wildly with his hands. He approaches her, eyes as giant as saucers as he whispers, “I’m right? It was just a theory, like, crazy-conspiracy levels of _just a theory,_ I haven’t even suggested it to my boss, but—”

Rey hesitates. “I don’t know if I was supposed to say that.” She folds her arms over her chest, nodding to the closed doors. “Can you arrange a meeting with Senator Organa or not?”

“Of course I can, but…”

“But what? Either you can or you can’t.”

Poe goes quiet for a moment, giving her a long look. “You aren’t safe, are you?” he says finally. “I heard Ben telling Leia you fired him, I know you don’t have a bodyguard. If you’re telling me this, if you’re confirming your grandfather had a hand in the death of another senator, and if you’re asking for a meeting with his competition…”

“I don’t think I’ve been safe in a very long time,” she admits, more to herself than Poe. “Maybe briefly, with Ben. But it’s fine. We have a plan.”

“We?”

“Armie and I.”

Poe lets out a long breath. “Hux? Can he be trusted?” He huffs, “As if I can even trust your answer.”

“Are you sure you can get me that meeting?” she asks, trying not to wince at the comment.

He hesitates, but nods. “Mon Mothma was one of Leia’s closest friends. Anyone with information on her death, or with information on her behalf, is someone Leia will meet with. I can guarantee it.”

“Good,” she sighs. She takes a quick look around even though it’s silly to fear being overheard here when there’s no one else occupying nearby balconies, nor any open windows or… anything, really. In the softest whisper she can manage, Rey explains, “It’s Armie, who needs the meeting. And yes, I trust him with my life. The two of us need help, and Armie’s trying to get us off-planet without being followed, so—”

The door to the balcony shudders, startling the both of them. It strikes her, as her heart thuds in her throat, that the doors to the balconies don’t lock, probably for safety purposes that would normally make sense. Before either she or Poe can react in any helpful way, it opens. Rather than the frustrated political staff member or pissed-off security guard—or more terrifyingly, _Crimson Dawn_ member—Rey expects to see, the person who joins them on the balcony and shuts the door behind him is possibly worse than all three of her guesses.

Ben.

Her heart hurts to see the dark circles under his eyes, the pale skin and lanky hair. He barely bothers to look at her. When he speaks, his voice is rough.

“I don’t know what you two are doing out here,” he says lowly, “But it doesn’t look good. They’re on a five-minute break, and Senator Organa sent me out to find out what’s going on. You both need to come back to the debate before the press notices.”

“Solo, you wouldn’t believe what she just _—”_

“We’re not doing anything,” Rey blurts. “I just… I just wanted to ask him about his schedule.”

Her excuse is flimsy. Poe raises a brow at her, confused at her lie, but Ben’s reaction is the one that hurts to see. A wince crosses his face before his expression goes blank.

“And here I thought Dameron wasn’t your type,” he says coldly.

Rey’s stomach turns. But she’s already hurt him. The least she can do is keep him out of this, no matter how much Armie thinks that’s wrong.

So she murmurs, “Well, then you hardly know me.”

Poe stays silent, watching them from her side.

Running a hand down his face, Ben sighs. He lets out a quiet, cruel laugh. “Right. I keep forgetting that. I suppose you’re just an exceptional liar.”

There’s no point in arguing, not when he’s saying exactly what she wants him to think. And maybe she is a liar, maybe she _is_ terrible and cruel, but at least he’s not involved. Ben shakes his head and turns to leave. Except, before he can even reach to open the door, Poe seems to realize she has every intention of letting him go.

“Hold on a minute,” Poe speaks up. “Solo, you didn’t actually buy that, right?”

The glare she gives Poe could cut him down where he stands, but the man ignores her. 

“She’s not _that_ good of a liar,” he laughs humorlessly. “You really think she came over to me in the middle of a debate and came out here to, what, hit on me? How much of a nerf-herder are you?”

Ben stops, his back still to them, and tilts his head to the side as if waiting for an explanation. Poe snorts, telling her dryly, “You know, if hitting on me was your intention, that really didn’t come through. It seemed more like you brought me out here to schedule a meeting with Leia, and maybe ask her for help getting off-planet, but what I can’t figure out is why you’re lying to Ben. Why would you fire someone when he could have helped you with this? Why come to me?” he prods. “Why not just tell Ben everything you told me?”

”Stay out of it,” she snaps. “This isn’t—”

Poe interrupts, turning to her with his arms crossed over his chest. “No, I want to know. I don’t know what sort of game this is, but—”

“It _isn’t_ a game.”

“So be honest, then,” he urges. “If you’re willing to lie to Ben about this, how do I know you aren’t lying to me?”

“I’m—”

“Do you and Hux even have anything to tell Leia, or is this just a chance to mess with her again?”

“It _isn’t—”_

“How am I supposed to trust you?” he continues. “Why fire Ben? What aren’t you telling us? Why would you come to _me,_ and not—”

“Because nobody threatened to have _you_ killed!” she finally blurts. 

Silence falls over the balcony. The only sound she ends up hearing is her own shuddering breath, and when she claps a hand over her mouth, there are tears rolling down her cheeks. Poe’s eyes are wide, but his face relaxes into an expression filled with sympathy.

She tries to pretend Ben isn’t standing a few feet away. Tries to pretend he isn’t hearing any of this. Tries to avoid even looking in his direction. 

Rey lowers her hand and grips the half-wall of the balcony. “Poe, I’m asking for _your_ help and not Ben’s because my grandfather hasn’t threatened to kill you _,_ ” she finally explains. She wraps the cloak around herself, squeezing her arms around her middle like an echo of the hug she needs. “I was trying to keep Ben out of it, to avoid putting him in more danger.”

The more she says, the more of a relief it is. 

“It was subtle, what my grandfather said,” she whispers, “but it was a threat. Maybe I should have been honest, but I was worried I misinterpreted or that I _didn’t,_ and telling Ben would put him in more danger. I know was unreasonable to think I could keep him uninvolved forever—Armie’s said as much—but I wanted to try.” She swallows, shrugging helplessly. “Nothing I’ve said to you today was a lie. I’m telling you the truth now because we’re all in danger anyway and I need your help. I—I almost killed him today. Almost killed him on the ride over. I could have, but then he said something about how his staff is watching Ben and they have orders and…”

Her words die in her throat. Poe says nothing, but he worries at his bottom lip, rests his hands on his hips, and sighs. 

“I’ll schedule the meeting on one condition,” he says quietly. “You and Hux tell Leia _everything._ All of this, everything you know of that your grandfather’s said or done—any threats, any crimes. All of it. You give her every scrap of evidence you can.”

She nods, feeling a numbness settle in at the realization that this is _it._ Once she and Armie tell Senator Organa, that’s it. There’s no going back, no reverting to a life in a gilded cage. No more dinners with her grandfather, no more trying to win his approval. It’s both a relief and terrifying.

“Can you get to her office when this debate is over?” Poe asks. “I think it’s clear you shouldn’t go home, and I can rearrange her schedule so she’s available as soon as the debate ends.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, Poe,” she murmurs. “Can we—”

As if he’s just caught up in the conversation, Ben blurts in a disbelieving voice, “Is that all true? He threatened to kill me? The things you said that night—was that just to get me to leave? Was that just you, and one of your ridiculous, impulsive plans? Did you give any thought to just telling me?”

The grimace that crosses Poe’s face probably matches hers. He gives a long sigh, muttering, “I’m going back to the debate. I have a feeling that will be less explosive than this. I’ll see you in Leia’s office.”

He’s past Ben and out the door in seconds, but Rey doesn’t watch him go. Her eyes are firmly fixed to the stone floor of the balcony. She’s a little too afraid to see the inevitable pain on Ben’s face. Or the indifference. She’s really not sure which would hurt more.

It takes a minute, but Ben asks, “Don’t you think all of that was something I needed to know?”

“Yes,” she admits. She pulls her lip between her teeth, biting nervously before letting it go. “But I was scared. When I said the things I said, I assumed you’d leave Coruscant and go back to Alderaan or something.” She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to stop the tears. “I figured you’d be hurt, but at least you’d be safe. Maybe it was awful, maybe it was a poor plan, but I was so focused on making sure he couldn’t hurt you, and—”

A hand comes up under her chin, startling her and forcing her to look up at him. His jaw works as he considers her. He looks exhausted, like he needs a full month of sleep. In the worst way, she desperately wants to curl up with him and forget about all of this.

“But what if he’d hurt _you,_ Rey?”

“I’m not sure I cared,” she breathes. “As long as you and Armie were safe.”

Ben’s expression turns pained, his mouth tightening. One of his fingers traces along her jaw, and she almost cries at how tender it is. 

“You should have told me. Do you have any idea how fucking _infuriating_ it is that you didn’t?”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I— I don’t know what to think about this. I still don’t know how to trust you, I still don’t know how to forgive you, I—”

“I know.”

“You said awful things, Rey. You _did_ awful things.”

“I _know.”_

“You said you’d rather be alone than with me.”

“I lied,” she says in a hush. “Better you be hurt than dead.”

The corner of his mouth twists down. “You say that like those were your only options. I have a ship _,_ Rey. I’m the prince of a fucking planet. Did you ever think about that? Didn’t you stop to consider that you were in danger, too? Maybe you didn’t care, but don’t you realize _I_ do? Don’t you realize you could have told me? Don’t you—”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I _know._ I can see that now, but you have to understand, when I left his apartment that night, I was afraid for your life. My grandfather’s never been a very kind man to Armie or I, but I always thought he was good. I always thought he loved me, even if it wasn’t in an obvious way. Do you have any idea how terrifying it was to be sitting at his table and have him ask about you and then comment on how easily you could be hurt? _You,_ the only person other than Armie I’ve really cared about. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have your only remaining biological family prey upon your fears like that? I thought I was paranoid for even interpreting it as a threat. I thought I had to be losing my mind.” 

Tears flood her eyes. “It felt like the world would end if I couldn’t convince you to leave. I don’t know how to explain how scared I was, I don’t know how to explain how much has changed in the last couple of days. Armie came home and told me everything, and maybe I should have figured it out earlier, maybe—”

A sob erupts from her, and Ben sighs and shakes his head, but cups her face and wipes at her tears.

She can’t tell if he’s going to yell at her or kiss her—she’s not even sure which she’d prefer—but she doesn’t get a chance to find out.

The doors burst open. Instead of them jumping apart like they’ve been interrupted doing something they shouldn’t, Ben’s arm wraps around her waist. Maybe _that_ is what does them in. He pulls her close as her eyes widen at the sight of her grandfather’s guards, all wrapped in scarlet cloaks. Her grandfather follows behind them, and Rey doesn’t miss the anger on his face, nor the way one of his guards is quick to shut the door behind them and station in front of it.

They’re trapped. 

Her breath stutters as she surveys the half-dozen robed guards. They stand, silent and ominous, in a half-circle between them and the exit. Nobody speaks for at least a full anxiety-inducing minute, and the entire time, all Rey can think is that she and Ben are going to die. Even with her knives, she’d get one, maybe two at most before they took either her or Ben down. There’s nowhere to hide out here, no cover to duck behind. She should have killed him in the airspeeder when she had the chance.

“Ah, Rey,” her grandfather finally sighs. “I had such high hopes. I warned you, dear. I had hoped you would listen.”

He gives the two of them one more disapproving look, along with a click of his tongue, before giving swift orders to his guards that makes fear surge up her spine.

“Bind their hands, inspect them for weapons, and take them to my office. Immediately.”

Ben’s arm clamps around her, just as her grandfather meets her eyes.

“It seems I must force your hand, my _darling_ Rey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General reminder that there's a "mention of child abuse" tag on this fic. 
> 
> This chapter ending might _feel_ like a cliffhanger, but... we're turning a corner.

Rey’s only a child the day they arrive on Jakku. 

She’s at Niima Outpost, halfway through preparing the little pile of scrap she collected that morning, scrubbing dirt off each piece the way Mashra, another scavenger, taught her. She makes quick work of the parts before bringing them to Unkar—her belly rumbles with hunger, and she’s in a rush to receive whatever portions she can get. 

Her shoulders sag with both relief and resignation when Plutt slaps a quarter portion on the counter. A quarter portion can stretch a few days if she’s careful, but it’s already _been_ a few days since her last meal. Whether it’s to her advantage or not, she’s too stubborn to ask for more. He won’t give it, anyway, so Rey sets her jaw and gives a firm nod, grabbing the small pack before she turns to start her travel back to her AT-AT. 

At least, that’s what she’d do on a _normal_ day.

It’s not strange to see off-worlders in Niima Outpost, but it _is_ strange to see them arriving while flanked with guards and wearing robes of rich colors she’s never seen, like giant signs saying _please rob me, I have more credits than sense._ A panic rises in her chest, even more so when she sees their weapons—another normal, but terrifying aspect of Niima Outpost. In a rush, she hides under a table, cursing her lack of options.

Quietly, she watches the man in dark blue, the unarmed one the others seem to be protecting, walk up to Unkar. She can’t hear the words they exchange, but she practically stops breathing when Unkar points in her direction and announces, “Rey. Only human girl that age around.”

She ducks out from under the table, gripping her quarter portion, and runs as quickly as her tired, sluggish legs will move. 

To her horror, someone orders, “Get her,” so casually, as though this isn’t an event worthy of nightmares.

She tries to run faster, but without a decent head-start, a guard catches her around the waist, making her shriek and kick as he carries her back to the others. She kicks and bites, but the guard ends up slinging her over a shoulder, holding her ankles so tightly she gasps in pain.

The man in blue—the one who issued the order—speaks like he’s trying to calm her, but all Rey can think is _kick, bite, run._

“Darling girl,” the man murmurs. “You don’t need to be afraid. None of us mean you harm. We have things to discuss.”

But she _is_ afraid. She’s seen this happen, she’s seen Unkar let people be taken, even if he doesn’t own the scavengers. She can’t leave. When her parents come back for her, they won’t know where she went, and— 

“I’m told you call yourself _Rey,”_ the man continues. 

She struggles against the guard who’s still holding her and tries to beat her fists against his back, but the man in blue only laughs.

“Dear Rey, calm down. You may call me _grandfather._ I’ve been looking for you for so long.”

At the word, she stills. Her eyes widen and dart around his face. It’s a little hard to focus when she’s hanging from someone’s shoulder, but the man is older, his hair thin and graying, his eyes pale and blue. 

He gives her a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, but says to the guard, “Let my granddaughter go.”

She’s dropped to the ground with another surprised shriek, but scrambles to her feet, clutching the quarter portion to her chest as she scowls at the guard.

“It’s her,” the man in blue confirms. “She’s the spitting image of her mother.”

Rey catches her breath, narrowing her eyes at the man. For a long time, she stares and tries to see the resemblance past their matching accents, but Rey’s barely sure of what she looks like. Her skin is tanned and freckled from the sun; his is pale. Her hair is brown, his is gray, but all the differences can be explained with age or living on different planets.

“Are you _really_ my grandfather?” she asks, hardly daring to hope. “Did my parents send you to get me?” Then, timidly, “Are… are they here? Have they come for me?”

His looks down at her with a frown. “I’m sorry, dear. I’m afraid I’m the only family you have left. ”

Rey’s breath hitches. Tears build in her eyes as she stares down at the sand underneath her feet.

She doesn’t flinch when the man bends down and pats her shoulder. “My Rey,” he sighs kindly, “I’ve spent years looking for you. I’m sorry to have been the one to tell you of your parents, but I hope you’ll come home to Coruscant with me. It’s where you belong.”

 _Coruscant._ The very idea of her living on or being from such a planet seems impossible.

He pats her shoulder again and Rey… she can’t remember the last time someone did that. She’s been hit before, been shoved, but _this_ is kind. Warm, in a way Jakku isn’t. The moment his hand leaves her, her gaze follows it; she longs for more.

“Come to Coruscant with me,” he urges through a gentle smile. “We have plenty of food on the ship. You’ll get cleaned up and we’ll have a feast, and you’ll forget all about this wretched place before we’re done. I promise, dear, once we arrive on Coruscant, you’ll never want for a thing. You’ll have everything your little heart has ever desired, and more.”

Maybe someday she’ll find out he’s wrong. Maybe someday she’ll wonder if she agreed too quickly. Maybe someday she’ll have more questions, maybe she’ll ask why her gut screamed at her to run.

But when he offers his hand, she doesn’t hesitate; she’s only a child, and she’s starved for more than food.

She’s starved for family. 

For love.

\--*--

There’s a difference between knowing and _knowing._

The unsettling realization of _knowing_ finally starts the moment she hears the order, “Bind their hands, inspect them for weapons, and take them to my office. Immediately.”

Blood rushes, pounding in her ears.

The words echo over and over in her mind as two of the six guards approach them. The last time her grandfather’s guards approached her like this, she didn’t have many options, and she’s not sure things are any different now. Even if she _has_ options, there’s no time to think through them, no time to consider the risks of arguing or agreeing, and all Rey can do, all she can even _think_ to do is take the only scrap of advice that’s served her well.

Whether the instinct in her gut is rational, self-serving, or hands-down _wrong,_ Rey doesn’t have time to reconsider.

In a matter of seconds, she lets go of Ben and seizes the knives strapped to her sides, wielding them in front of her. Maybe it’s insane, maybe it’s an overreaction, but it doesn’t feel like one. Rage wells in her gut, boiling up through her chest as she pulls from Ben’s grasp—he makes an odd noise and tries to hold tighter, but it must be hard to argue with a woman holding twin blades. 

Just before the guards get close, she steps in front of him.

Behind her, he seems to panic. “Rey, wait—”

“Stay back!” she orders the guards, ignoring Ben. It feels natural, feels _right_ to bare her teeth, to snarl. “Back off. We’re not going anywhere.”

She’s not a scared child anymore; if anyone tries to pick her up and carry her off, they’ll be met with metal, not just kicking and screaming.

Her weight shifts back and forth between her feet with an anxious energy, something tumultuous and ready to snap. 

“Rey, whatever you’re thinking,” Ben says in a low voice, “There may be a more diplomatic solution, so—”

“One more step and someone gets to bleed out on this balcony,” she warns the guards in front of her. “I _will not_ hesitate.”

Behind her, Ben breathes a somewhat tired, “I suppose that works, too.”

The two scarlet-cloaked guards stop simultaneously, and her eyes dart between them and her grandfather. There’s a gleam in his eyes—something terrifying and evil, something she never recognized as a child. It’s not as surprising as she wishes it was.

“I’ve got a blaster on me,” Ben whispers, almost too quietly for her to hear over the wind and her own pounding heart. “But two knives and a blaster up against six guards? They’re armed, Rey.”

Her grandfather sighs, waving with a single hand to his guards. “Stand down. It seems we’ll need to have this conversation here.” He looks to her, _speaks_ to her. “Bloodshed in such a public place would be unwise, dear. At least… _unnecessary_ bloodshed. An exception could be made, if needed, but there are alternative options.”

“We’re not going anywhere with you,” Rey swears, her voice as firm as she can make it, despite how unsettling it is to see her grandfather’s lack of surprise. “Whatever you want, say it here.”

As if unworried about her knives, the man steps forward, clasping his hands in front of himself. “My dear Rey,” he says softly. “I simply wish to talk with you.”

“Fine,” she nods. “ _Talk.”_

\--*--

Coruscant is cold. 

Her arm wraps do little to help, but within hours of her arrival on the city planet, her arm wraps, tunic, and leggings get shoved to the back of a drawer. A synth-flesh covered nanny droid shuffles her into an entire _tub_ full of clean warm water, then scolds her when she tries to drink it. The thick bubbly liquid she’s made to rub over herself smells sweet, but sickeningly so—Rey wrinkles her nose at it. The nanny droid scolds her the entire time it gently brushes out her hair, removing the knots and tangles one by one.

After her bath, Rey sits on a couch, her eyes wide as she smooths her hand over the strangely soft fabric of the furniture. The nanny droid dressed her in heavy clothes—an uncomfortable set of fitted pants and a silky shirt, neither of which seem practical, but she’s at least thankful the droid offered her a cloak for the chill.

Everything about her surroundings is foreign, from the floors to the air, the fabrics to the sounds.

She sits there for what feels like an hour before deciding to explore her new world.

In each new room, Rey struggles to comprehend the room’s need. A bathroom and bedroom she supposes make sense, but there are _three_ of each. The nanny droid explains the room where she sat on a couch is a _living room_ , meant for relaxing and entertaining. When the droid shows her to a kitchen, Rey almost cries; it’s an entire _room_ dedicated to storing and preparing something she’d spend days working for on Jakku.

When she runs out of rooms to explore, she finds the turbolift.

Somehow, her grandfather’s apartment is even more extravagant than her own. She struggles to figure out why they don’t share a single apartment, but she’s too awestruck as she wanders around to think much of it. She finds another bedroom, finds another kitchen, and doesn’t stop to wonder if it’s _okay_ to her to open drawers and investigate the foreignness of everything she finds.

The slap of his hand on hers is enough to startle her out of her wide-eyed curiosity.

Rey looks up to find her grandfather’s expression set into something stern and displeased. 

“My dear, I believe it’s time to discuss rules,” he says firmly, towering above her in his elaborate robes. He grabs her arm and yanks her toward the turbolift, ignoring her confused apologies. “You are _not_ to enter my apartment unless you’re called for,” he explains, and while his voice and grip soften on the trip down to her own apartment, there’s still a warning edge to both. “You will _stay_ in this space, do you understand?”

She frowns. “No, I—”

“ _Do you understand?”_ he repeats, and this time his voice is like something out of a nightmare. 

Hesitantly, she nods. “I just didn’t know,” she says quickly. “It’s so much space, I thought—”

“Perhaps _too_ much space,” her grandfather interrupts. He considers her, and when his expression turns, his mouth shaping into a little smile, she nearly sighs with relief. “Mm. I suppose I’ll need to have a discussion with the droid I’ve assigned to you.”

He leaves without another word, leaving her to wonder what that means.

Pain lingers in her arm from his grip, but he joins her for dinner later that day; when he smiles and pats her head, all is forgotten.

\--*--

Her grandfather paces the balcony, only feet from where she’s standing, holding her knives in front of her like they might be attacked any minute. Ben’s arm slides around her front, startling her for a moment until he urges her back against him.

“I hope you can find a way to understand my confusion,” her grandfather finally says. He pauses and gives her a scarily sympathetic smile. “Darling, I’m aware I’m hardly the family you may have wished for. I was harsh and unused to the needs of children, but I ensured you were raised far from the Jakku desert, _far_ from a terrible life that consisted of portions and bartering for your survival.”

Rey’s eyes narrow at him, but he keeps pacing, keeps talking.

“We need to be _very_ careful,” Ben whispers, his mouth pressing to the edge of her ear. “They have us cornered. You realize that, don’t you?”

She nods, just once. Her knives stay out in front of her, but it’s impossible to ignore the relief of his solid arm tight around her.

“I know you once wanted to work for me,” her grandfather sighs. “And I believe that opportunity still lies ahead, but my dear, I’m afraid I’ll need proof of your dedication if we’re to move forward.”

Part of her knows the answer, but Rey asks lowly, gripping the knives a little tighter, “What _sort_ of proof?”

Her grandfather’s mouth curls. He stops in his pacing, arriving right in front of her, just out of reach. 

“Ben Solo’s blood. We’re past the point of mincing words, so I’ll be clear—if you’re so keen to spill blood, make it his. Prove yourself, and I’ll be so proud of you, dear.”

Ben’s arm tightens like a tether, like he’s making sure she doesn’t lunge at the senator and ensure her own death via the guards’ blasters. But she doesn’t lunge, doesn’t just throw her knives at the man like she’d prefer to—maybe because part of her expected the demand, and because it’s _absurd._

All she does is blurt, “No.”

He stares at her like the word is one he’s never heard. “What did you say?”

Her jaw sets. “I said _no.”_

Fury rises in his eyes, but she keeps going.

“I said _no,_ grandfather. Absolutely not.” She shakes her head. “You can’t ask something unspeakable of me just to _prove_ myself. Do you have any idea what killing him would do to me? You being proud isn’t worth it. You can’t eviscerate me and then think patting me on the head will make it all—” Rey stops mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she goes quiet, as more knowing turns to _knowing._ “But you’ve been doing that my whole life, haven’t you?”

“I suppose it’s your choice what happens here, dear,” the man says, seeming to ignore her awful little revelation. “Either way, your bodyguard—or former bodyguard, I suppose—won’t leave this balcony alive.”

She goes rigid. In the past minute, her body must have grown used to feeling Ben’s chest expand and contract with his breaths, because she knows the very moment he stops breathing; she does, too.

Ben speaks first, and if she hadn’t spent so much time considering his every word, maybe she wouldn’t notice the wavering in his voice. “Senator Palpatine, am I incorrect in saying a sizable amount of Coruscant’s press stands behind those doors? Are we not in public? I’m curious to hear how you plan to explain away the death of your opposition’s son. Alderaan is a peaceful planet, but that may not hold true if you murder its prince and only heir.”

“All too correct,” her grandfather confirms, but he does it with a disturbing grin, as though he knows he’s won. His face takes on a grimace of mock sadness. “It was a terrible decision, but I can’t imagine I could be blamed for the death of the man who harmed my own granddaughter.” Believable stress and tragic hopelessness seeps into his voice. “Such a shame, my guards and I arrived to the balcony only moments too late.”

Rey blinks. “What? What are you talking about? Too late? Too late for _what?_ And if anyone’s _harmed_ me, it’s—”

“There are two ways this can go, dear,” her grandfather interrupts, his voice suddenly impatient and angry. “Kill Ben Solo and tell the press it was self defense, as he attempted to kidnap you during the debate. If you refuse, neither of you will leave this balcony alive—I’ll simply tell the press we were too late to save you from him. But I would prefer you kill him. If you do, you can have whatever you’d like. A nicer apartment, a position in my staff, the freedom to explore the planet as you’d like, whatever you’ve wished for. A single blaster shot, and it will all be yours.” 

Behind her, Ben lets out a shaky breath. His hand presses to her stomach and keeps her tight against him in an echo of the closeness she’s missed. It should be soothing, should be comforting, but all it does is remind her of what someone’s trying to steal.

“Whatever I’d like?” she whispers. “I think I’ve heard that lie before.”

\--*--

On Rey’s first night on Coruscant, it’s impossible to sleep. It isn’t the noises outside her wall of windows, nor the brightness of the city—it’s the bed. She sinks into it like quicksand, and it’s strange and unsettling. She falls asleep on the floor instead, curling up with a blanket. It’s cold, even wrapped in soft sleep clothes and a heavy comforter, and the quiet night winds that used to lull her are gone, but eventually, she falls into a shallow sleep.

The next morning, she wakes to being scolded by the nanny droid, but she’s so excited by the promise of _breakfast_ —her grandfather mentioned it’s normal to eat multiple meals per day—that she leaps up, rushing to the bathroom to clean up quickly as the nanny droid orders. For the first time, she gets a better look at herself in a mirror, and startles.

Her freckles are clearer than she realized. She’s maybe never seen her hair brushed and down; her buns have been constant for fear her parents wouldn’t recognize her otherwise. Rey leans in over the sink, peering at herself like she’s a stranger. There’s a healing scrape on her chin, a little scar over one brow, but she can’t get her grandfather’s words out of her head. 

_She’s the spitting image of her mother._

Rey’s heart sinks when she remembers her grandfather is the only family she has left. But there, in that moment, she stares at herself and _tries._ Tries to see the resemblance, tries to see the link to her last living scrap of family, because if he’s all she’s got, he’s _hers._

Maybe he’ll let her hold his hand again over breakfast.

At that thought, she rushes from the bathroom, having spent a little too long studying the mirror, and changes out of sleep clothes. Her grandfather’s probably waiting at the table for her, maybe with another feast, so she bounds over to her bedroom door, pressing the button to open it.

The door beeps at her, but doesn’t open. Frowning, she presses the button again.

Another beep.

The hyperventilating doesn’t start for nearly an hour, long after she’s stopped pressing the button and pounding on the door. While trying to catch her breath, she flies around the room looking for another door she hasn’t noticed yet, but short of the door into her bathroom, there’s nothing. She presses every button she can find on the pad next to the door, but all it does is beep and stay locked.

That’s when the tears start.

Time seems to warp, and she’s too overwhelmed and terrified as she curls into a ball in a corner to keep proper track of the hours that pass. 

She yells until her voice disappears, cries until her eyes go dry, pounds on the door until her hands bruise, begs and begs to be let out, but nobody comes for her.

Rey goes numb in a corner, wrapped in a blanket and staring out at nothing.

Part of her had always thought she’d starve someday. She’s gotten close before, when she spent almost a week too ill to scavenge. She hadn’t thought it would happen in a place like _this,_ where the walls are impossible to scratch into, where she’s surrounded by more luxury than she could have imagined.

As days go by, isn’t the hunger pains that scare her. It’s the emptiness of the room, the feeling of being thrust back into a world where she’s just desperately hoping her family will come for her. It’s the fact that she’s hopelessly alone.

It might be only a few days or a week later—she couldn’t keep track, and nobody ever tells her—when the door slides open to her frightened and concerned grandfather.

“Oh, my Rey,” he sighs, walking over to where she’s curled up. “My dear, it seems your nanny droid malfunctioned. I requested the droid ensure you stay safely inside this apartment, but it seems there was a misunderstanding.”

For a moment, she thinks it’s a dream. 

But then he bends down, reaches out, and squeezes her hand, and he’s _real_ and he’s _here,_ and all she can do is burst into tears.

“I’ll be sure it never happens again,” he promises, patting her shoulder comfortingly. “You don’t need a nanny droid, do you? We’ll get you tutors, but you don’t need a nanny. You’ll be a good girl and stay right in this apartment, won’t you darling?”

Her nod comes quickly.

“Good, good,” her grandfather croons. “Dear, why don’t you get cleaned up, and we’ll have dinner? You must be starving.”

She nods again, standing on shaky legs, but as he turns to leave, she blurts, her voice thin, scratchy, and wavering, “Could you leave that door open, grandfather?” Her voice cracks as she adds a desperate, “Please?”

His smile is a much-needed comfort. “Of course, Rey. Anything you need. I’m so sorry this happened. I should have checked in on you sooner.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, wiping at her eyes, but they just flood with more tears. “Thank you, grandfather.”

He pauses at the door, but seems to change his mind—he takes the few steps back to her and wraps her in an unexpected hug. She shudders, letting her tears soak his robe as he pats her back.

As he hugs her, she’s overwhelmed with gasping sobs.

Gasping sobs, and a deep sense of gratefulness.

\--*--

There’s a theory spinning in the back of her mind as she stands on the balcony; maybe spending her childhood on Jakku prepared her for this moment, in every way. A childhood there taught her she needed to grip on to whatever she wanted, and be willing to risk her life if she insisted on keeping it. It taught her what life without love looks like, and will forever remind her why she so desperately _wants_ to love and be loved. It taught her how to hope.

The wind that whips around them, making her hyper-aware of the movement in their billowing cloaks, is frigid, not unlike some cold desert nights she barely survived.

Ben is her only source of warmth, in more ways than one. He’s like a live-wire behind her, agitated and twitchy, as though he’s just waiting for the right moment to lunge out from behind her and start shooting. For now, he only holds her tight with one arm, his free hand probably resting on the blaster at his side.

“My Rey,” her grandfather says, his voice full of a softness she doesn’t trust, not for a second. “I never lied to you, I’ve given you everything you’ve wanted. You asked me earlier if I love you. Do this, and I will. You can live in my apartment, if that’s what you wish. We can be the family you’ve wanted, I—”

Something burning, something overwhelming, builds in her. Her mind races with his words, but comes to a screeching halt at one word specifically.

It’s the word _family_ that does it.

It’s like he’s flipped a switch, like he’s caused some intense and immediate chemical reaction that results in an instant explosion.

“No!” she roars. “ _No._ You aren’t my family! Family doesn’t do this.” She struggles against Ben’s grasp, trying to get her knives just a little closer to her gran— to _Senator Palpatine._ “Family doesn’t ask family to kill people! You— you’ve taken _everything_ from me,” she snarls. “You won’t take him.”

“Dear, look at everything I’ve given you since I took you off that miserable planet, how can—”

“Things! Things, grandfather! They’re only _things._ Baubles and trinkets and pretty clothes, _keep them.”_ Tears prick at her eyes, even more so as she fights with Ben’s desperate hold around her. “All I needed was love,” she chokes out. “All I ever asked for was…”

The tears come fully, streaming down her face as she stares at the stranger in front of her. 

There’s an odd moment of calm despite her tears when she says, her voice raw, “Do you even realize, when I was a little girl and that nanny droid locked me away, it wasn’t food I was desperate for, it wasn’t entertainment, it wasn’t _space—_ I wanted _you_ more than any of it. The whole time, all I wanted was for you to show up and hug me and tell me you loved me. I’d just gotten you, and I was so scared to be alone again. All I _ever_ asked you for was love, and you’d rip that away from me? How dare you,” she hisses. “ _How dare you,_ you horrible, monstrous man.”

Behind her, Ben’s voice is a tremulous mix of worried and gentle. “Rey, not here, we need to—”

“But it was you, wasn’t it?” she yells through tears, finally asking the thing she’s been terrified to ask. “It was you, it wasn’t the nanny droid, that was a lie, wasn’t it? _Wasn’t it?_ How long did you leave me there?” Her voice turns to begging, her tears to sobs, “How long? Just tell me. I know you never loved me and it’s too late to convince me otherwise, so just tell me. How long?”

Silence falls over the balcony. It feels like a pivotal moment, like she’s about to have every fear confirmed.

The senator stares at her for a long moment, seeming to debate whether she’s a lost cause while she tries to blink the tears from her eyes.

“Five days,” he answers coldly. The smile that crosses the man’s face is nothing short of sinister, bringing a terrible chill to her blood. “Perhaps it should have been seven.”

Her breath catches. The only bit of comfort she finds is in Ben, murmuring, “Sweetheart, listen to me. We _cannot_ stay here.”

“Did my parents even sell me?” She pauses, sniffling, and demands, “Did they truly abandon me, or was that just a story for the press? The least I deserve is the truth.”

The deepening smile on his face tells her all she needs to know. He tilts his head at her, his eyes cold and calculating. “The truth? I see little importance in it. Aren’t you… better off? What is it you used to say? You were safe, you were fed, you had a friend, a home? Wasn’t it _better?”_

It’s like being slapped. She wobbles, hopefully only enough for Ben to notice. 

“I’ll _ruin_ you,” she shudders. “You’re a _monster._ I’ll see your blood spilled long before you ever hurt anyone I care for.”

When he laughs, her heart sinks like a rock. “Oh, my Rey. You think you have any say in who leaves this balcony? You think you have say in whether this man survives, or whether even poor Armitage survives? You think I don’t know who Armitage has been working for? You can’t protect either of them. Naïve child.”

Trying not to react, trying not to show how utterly terrified that thought leaves her, Rey steadies her breath and nods. “Maybe.” The strange thing about the threat is how it’s accompanied by an unexpected amount of clarity. “Maybe I am. But if you don’t realize what you’ve created in me, you’re every bit as naïve.” She grinds her teeth, glaring down her own personal nightmare. “Maybe I’m naïve and maybe you’ve twisted me into something terrible, but at least I can _love._ At least I’ve learned I don’t need to beg for the scraps you offer—at least I know I don’t need to sell my soul just so someone will care for me.”

She gestures out with her knives, reveling in how natural they feel in her grasp. “So go ahead and take it all back, grandfather. Take the apartment, take the bank accounts, take all the pretty, useless things I’ve _never_ needed. Please, keep your pretty cage, because that’s all it ever was.” 

Her breath comes in a shudder as she wonders for half a minute if she’ll ever get another moment with Ben, or if this is her last. 

“You can even take my dreams, my wishes,” she says in a hush. “All that time and energy I spent hoping you’d show me just an _ounce_ of love, all the time I spent dreaming of a real family—take it _all._ I don’t need any of it, but if you so much as touch Ben or Armie, I will rip you to shreds. You can take _everything_ from me _,_ but I’ll die before you take my love.”

She shakes her head, her words thick and unyielding. “I thought the last of my hope died on Jakku. I thought it disappeared the moment you told me my parents were gone, the moment I realized I’d never see them come back for me.” Her voice turns soft. “I was wrong.”

It’s possibly the most illogical thought she’s had, but somehow, standing cornered on a balcony, Rey thinks she feels _hope_ wells in her chest. It’s in the way she knows she can give Armie and maybe even Ben a head-start before anyone tries to kill either of them, in the way she sees the slightest hint of fear in her grandfather’s eyes, in the way Ben held her just before they were interrupted. 

_“Rey,”_ Ben says softly, “You’ve made your point, we should—”

“Let me warn you of something I’ve learned,” she interrupts, locking eyes with the senator. “Spilling blood comes as easy as breathing. You may not get your hands dirty, but I promise you, I will, and if it’s yours, I’ll _enjoy_ it.”

When Senator Palpatine speaks, there’s a hint of doubt in his tone. “You don’t have it in you.”

“Then you underestimate me, and you underestimate my ability to love.”

Finally pulling from Ben’s stunned hold, she takes a step closer to the senator, closer and closer until she sees his guards stiffening. 

“You say love made me weak?” she asks. “I think it makes me dangerous. Do you feel like finding out?”

Ben’s voice turns desperate behind her. “Rey, there are six of them, this isn’t the time—”

“My dear,” Palpatine utters. He holds a hand up to his guards, as though to hold them back until his signal. “I hoped you’d continue my legacy, but this level of insolence is unforgivable. I gave you a choice, but if you insist on this course of action, I’m afraid you _will_ die.”

And maybe she will, maybe he’s right. But she’s been here before. She’s been near death in a desert, been near death while surrounded by opulence, been near death in the depths of the underworld. Maybe it should be terrifying—it has been before—but it isn’t now. Maybe that’s because Ben is behind her, proving yet again that she isn’t _alone._ He grabs for her waist and insists, “Rey, _please,”_ as though he can’t bear to lose her, either.

So all she can offer the senator is a nod, and a solemn, “I know. But if you insist on making me choose, that’s my choice.” Then, in a murmur, “If I die, you die with me, Senator, because I will never pick you over either of them.”

From behind her, Ben lets out a choked noise.

There’s no time to turn around and kiss him, no time to turn around and look in his eyes to repeat the words he’s now heard her speak, no time to regret any of how this unfolded.

No time to turn back and brush the hair out of his panicked, wide eyes, and tell him whatever they might have had is worth whatever’s about to happen.

She moves forward slowly, out of Ben’s hold, like she’s just daring Palpatine to make a move or issue a command—something in her promises it’ll be sweeter if he puts up a fight—but just as she takes another step, Ben slings both arms around her waist, knocking one of the knives from her hand. 

“No. No, I can’t let you do that,” Ben says firmly, tugging her back to the balcony’s edge. “I can’t risk _you._ ”

The sound that slips from her is something like a yelp. “What! Wait, you can’t—”

While snapping and struggling in his gasp, it strikes her that both his hands are grasping _her_ and not his blaster. All at once, while both her feet are kicking in the air as he forces her closer and closer to the balcony’s edge, the guards jump to action. 

She hears the senator shout, “Get them both!” just as Ben looks over the edge of the balcony.

“Ben! Put me down!” she yells, but his hold on her is strong as titanium.

“Hold on tight,” he warns, hiking a leg over the half-wall.

“What?! Ben!” she shrieks, pushing away at his chest. “Don’t you see how far up we are? Are you _insa—_ ”

That’s it. That’s all she gets out before he pushes off the balcony, taking her down with him in a death-grip, while her words turn into a scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	16. Chapter 16

There’s no space in the pockets of sanity before the rush of gravity, air, and blaster fire takes up vacancy. No time to think, no time to process.

_You don’t have it in you._

Rey thinks she sees her grandfather rush to look over the edge of the balcony as she and Ben drop away. Thinks, but hardly believes, because a hail of blaster fire follows. Screaming plasma bolts jet past them in streams of scarlet, and suddenly Ben readjusts his hold on her, shielding her from the fire. His arms are locked around her in a hold impossible to break free from.

_You can’t protect either of them. Naïve child._

Uncountable lights careen past them as they fall one, two, a dozen floors, and Rey tries to focus on anything but screaming. It’s not possible—all she can see is her grandfather’s scowl, all she can hear are his terrible words, all she can _feel_ is the poison of his touch rooted in her gut and in her heart.

_A single blaster shot, and it will all be yours._

It’s like she’s falling off the planet itself, slipping away from her truest chance of ending the nightmare, ending the man—the _monster—_ who made her this. The scream that rips from her throat is one part terror, ten parts bloody murder.

Platforms and balconies blend into each other, and soon her very own monster is too far beyond her reach. Her hands itch for her knives, a blaster, anything to hurt or do hurt with. 

“Stop struggling!” Ben shouts, his mouth right by her ear. His grunt is audible, just as a swerving weight in her gut tells her they’re changing trajectory. “This is harder than it looks!”

“Falling is _hard?”_ she yells back. “Guess you should have let me kill him!”

Her vision blurs from the wind, but she still sees the nightmare just as he was, royal blue robes and mouth curled into something wicked as he demanded Ben’s life. The vat of churning wrath in her is boiling over, the voice in her mind screaming that she _hurt, attack, kill_ the thing hanging over her like a cloud of disease.

“I need to stop him! We have to go back!”

Sirens pierce through the wail and whistle of wind rushing past them. Strobing blue lights pop up in her peripherals. 

“Seems they disagree.”

How he manages a cocksure smile during a free-fall, she’ll never understand.

They’d been near the top of the Senate building before Ben’s literal leap of faith, and despite it being an eternity since, they still aren’t near the bottom. Rey can barely make sense of the hurricane of information assaulting her senses. The farther they fall, the more she hears blaster fire and the high-pitched whistle of wind. 

Something in her boils and coils and turns in on itself, hissing that her grandf—

That _Palpatine_ is getting away.

Ben curses, braces her head against his chest, and shouts, “Hold on!”

The world lurches again and momentum yanks at every piece of her as their fall turns into a long, whipping swing that threatens to tear her limbs off. Rey looks down and sees the same winch from the last time she’d been in Ben’s arms, the wire unreeling faster than she can track, smoke rising from the mechanism. Ben reaches down and with another grunt, clicks something in the mechanism. Their fall slows a little as the winch locks and the wire holding them stretches and turns taut, jerking them even as they continue to pick up speed. Coruscant dances on the edge of her vision, buildings forming a gaping maw of steel teeth waiting to swallow them whole. 

She tries to shout, but they’re going fast, so fast, it’s hard to breathe and the wind slices at her cheeks as they reach the bottom of their swing, and still they don’t stop.

Terrifyingly, they start to rise.

“When I say ‘jump’, you jump,” Ben orders. His expression is tight with concentration or pain, and it’s like he’s seeing everything and nothing. “They’re going to be on us, _fast.”_

“Jump?” she yells over the wind. “Jump where?!”

“Get ready!”

_“What?!”_

She can’t see anything below except a drop that promises a long time to think.

“Wait,” she panics, “No—”

He relaxes his grip on her as their ascent slows to a standstill, and for an instant it’s like they’re dancing on air. “ _Now,_ jump!”

He says it right as they reach the top of their swing, and fucking _lets her go,_ to the sound of her screech. At the last moment, she pushes off him and twists in mid-air, hoping to at least see her imminent doom. It’s a shock when her midsection catches on an unexpected tree branch. The impact drives the air from her lungs as her body folds around it, shattering her concentration. Horrid aching pain warps in her gut, leaving her too weak to hold on.

Rey falls from the branch, her back slamming to freshly watered grass and the loam dirt of a Senate tourist garden.

She stares up at the tree, dazed, while she tries to grasp that she’s no longer falling.

A second later, another body hits the ground beside her, this one larger and clad in black, and the moment he hits, he’s smothering something metallic and seething with enough heat to char the ground: the winching mechanism, warped beyond recovery from the friction.

When it no longer threatens to set the immediate vicinity on fire, Ben stops. They’re on one of the lower garden platforms, and thankfully, it’s one of the less visited ones. There are half a dozen park visitors around, and they’re all watching them from a distance, or shuffling away like sensible citizens.

Ben groans, dropping back to rest next to her. 

“…ow.”

She’s not sure which of them says that. Her entire abdomen feels like a giant bruise.

Sounding short of breath, Ben sighs, “You alive over there?”

Briefly, she tries to muster up the breath to curse him out for everything. For jumping. For running. For endangering their lives. For saving their lives. She’s not sure which to start with first, but she wants to curse Ben Solo with every fiber of her being and maybe kiss him, too. But she can’t. She can only inhale, exhale, best as she can, and try not to pay attention to the growing catalog of aches and pains in her various extremities.

She’s suddenly, viscerally aware of what it means to have Ben Solo in her life.

“Fuck,” she breathes out. “ _Fuck_ you."

Ben snorts. “Yeah, you’re fine. Get up, we need to keep going. They won’t be far behind.”

“You idiot,” Rey wheezes, wincing through the syllables. “You fucking idiot, I was so close.” Hot, wrathful tears pool in eyes as she forces herself to sit up. “We have to go back while I still have a chance. He can’t— Ben, I have to stop him. I have to stop him before he gets to Armie, I _have to—_ ”

“Have to _what,_ exactly? Have to die?” he seethes. “No. No, you don’t. And as far as Hux goes, I’m sorry but I’m a lot less concerned about him right now than I am about you. What you just did— I don’t think I have to tell you how foolish that was.”

“I was trying to _save_ you,” she shouts at him. Ben offers her a hand, glowering at her, and she slaps it away, standing up on her own wobbly feet. “I was ready to die for you, which part of that was foolish?!”

Frustration floods his expression. “What makes you think I would _ever_ want that? Why would I want you dead, why would I want—”

“What the _fuck_ do you want, then?”

A hand grabs her chin, squeezing as he tilts her face up. Her chest fills with rage as she bats his hand away, but Ben doesn’t seem to care. “And here I thought that was obvious,” he snaps. 

There isn’t even the briefest hesitation before his mouth covers hers.

He works over her lips in something bruising, punishing even, biting at her and licking along the seam of her mouth. His tongue strokes into her, his grip on her chin easing. A vicious and ill-timed throb from her gut almost causes her to buckle, but Ben’s free hand curls around her waist, supporting her while his mouth slides over hers.

After a moment, after a sigh that just feels _right,_ after sagging against him, the anger seems to fade from his kiss, slowly replaced with desperation.

His teeth tug at her bottom lip before he pulls away, murmuring, “I don’t make a habit of jumping off balconies for people I don’t care about.”

“Yeah, well,” she breathes, “I don’t make a habit of threatening to kill senators for just anyone, either.”

Ben rests his forehead against hers, and somehow there’s a little smile in his tone as he asks, “Really? That part seemed somewhat in character.”

They share huffs of laughter that seem impossible given their current states. She winces terribly as her weight shifts, and she shakes her head. “Ben, I mean it though. I have to go back. I _at least_ need to warn Armie, he doesn’t know—”

“No. Forget whatever delusions you have of going back,” he says lowly. He leaves another chaste kiss at the corner of her mouth and shakes his head. “You were about to kill your grandfather.” The sentence isn’t accusatory, isn’t judging. “What if you had? What if you went back and got past his guards? What then?”

Rey closes her eyes. Her mind flashes to the poison in her grandfather’s words, to the weight of his rare praise, to the burn of his constant disappointment. She thinks about the many myriad ways she’d failed as a Palpatine, as a child, and some tiny part of her, some terrified little voice whispers that she’s lucky to be here. Here with Ben, here and alive, and in his arms, not sunken deeper into the abyss.

“I don’t know,” she admits.

The _I don’t care_ goes unsaid.

He’s quiet for a long moment before sighing, his breath fanning along her jaw. “You’re going to get yourself killed. I can’t let you do that. Maybe I should be, but I’m not sorry. You’re getting on the Falcon. How easily we get there is up to you, but I won’t watch you die.” 

There’s some oblique emotion in the way he says it, something that seems to mystify him just as much as it does her. _Upset._ He sounds _upset._

He raises his head to offer her the briefest, sweetest smile while his fingers slide along her jaw to cup her face, but then something behind her catches his attention. His eyes shoot wide.

“We stayed here too long! Duck!”

Rey does so without question, dropping to the ground alongside him. She bites down on her lip to suppress the instinctive cry at the rapidly familiar trembling throb of pain lancing through her body. Her vision swims, and for a second she feels like she’s going to pass out, but somehow she doesn’t. A blaster shot shreds through the space their bodies had occupied just seconds ago. Rather than ripping through flesh, the shots slam into a tree, carving a chunk out of the bark and charring the trunk.

Her ears ring.

Civilians screaming. Burnt ozone filling her nostrils. The high-pitched whinny of speeders, ever present on Coruscant, except these seem to be heading toward them. She watches, dazed, as Ben grabs the blaster at his side and fires off a trio of shots in the direction of the initial shot—in the direction of one of the speeders.

“Are you okay?” he shouts over his shoulder. He turns back, giving her a once over, his gaze still occasionally darting toward the approaching speeders. “Can you get up?”

Her ribs, spine and entire body let out a whimpering throb that robs her of breath, but Rey swallows the pain and rises to her feet, relying more on his offered hand than she’d like. 

“Mm— I— I’m fine.”

Ben’s brows furrow as he looks her over. “You’re injured. _Badly._ What it is it? Ribs?”

“I said I’m _fine,”_ she contests hotly. “Or, it’s nothing pressing, we’ll worry about it later. Stop worrying about me and focus on—”

Scarlet screams burn through the air as a second speeder passes them, their shots missing them by inches.

It’s a shock, how quickly Ben reacts. Shots fly off, and then suddenly he’s rolled her across his front, holding her in a dip, one arm wrapped around her lower back while the other holds his blaster aloft and fires. A body falls from one speeder as it zooms past them, and Rey blinks, just as Ben looks down at her. His brooding boyish hair drapes over his face, and the corner of his mouth turns up, like he knows everything going through her head.

“You know, I rarely make a habit of saving people who aren’t even paying me, but I think I’ll make an exception for you.”

Rey stares at his face, at the lack of turmoil in it, and realizes something surprising. 

“You’re… happy? People are trying to kill us and you’re _happy?”_

Ben raises a brow as he lifts her back to her feet. “Don’t sound so surprised, sweetheart.”

She scoffs. “You’re not usually in the business of being happy.”

“My business usually isn’t in the interest of making me happy. Certain company, certain revelations… sometimes those make me happy.”

It’s the closest she’s ever heard him to giddy.

“Brought you something,” Ben unclasps his second blaster and tosses it to her. “But I’ve seen you shoot. Do us both a favor and try to hit something vital. Or, _something._ Literally anything. I’m sure they’ll be coming back around, and they’ll probably put boots on the ground—we don’t want to get caught in a chase through the city, not with these injuries.”

Rey scowls, finding herself more put off by this oddly cheerful version of Ben than the life-threatening circumstances around them. Shaking her head, she disengages the safety and follows him as he moves away from the park’s edge. 

The speeders hang back a bit further instead of pursuing closely, maybe trying to avoid Ben’s lethal aim with a simple blaster pistol.

“My bet is, they’re going to swarm us,” Ben says, firing off warning shots at the approaching speeders. The shots miss, but not by a lot, and the speeders break off. “Standard pincer. Maybe stall while they get a sniper in position so they don’t lose anyone too important.”

“What makes you so sure? And what makes you think I understood more than half of that?”

“Just follow me, okay? I’m used to being chased by large groups of angry people with guns,” Ben says dryly, ducking underneath a low branch. “Runs in the family.”

Rey almost trips on her next step when she hears that.

They reach a large outgrowth of underbrush—one of the pet projects of the well-to-do families of Coruscant seeking to emulate natural wildlife on the city planet—and they dive in, shrouding themselves in flora. 

Klaxons and megaphone announcements rise in their wake as they disappear from sight.

“What do you want to bet your grandfather’s claiming I kidnapped you?” he mutters. “I’m sure the press is having a fucking _day_ with this.”

Rey cringes, but the sharp pains at her side steal her breath and her voice.

Ben ducks behind a bush, pulling her along with him with a gentle hold, like he’s mindful of her injuries. Her cloak is a horrid mess, her hair falling from its braid, but nothing catches on any stray brambles or bushes, and she can still feel the comfort of her one remaining knife tucked along her forearm, arm wraps holding it in place.

“So what’s the plan?” she whispers, easing closer as Ben holds a hand up. 

A speeder flies by overhead, stirring the flora and fauna, but doesn’t seem to notice them.

Ben lets out a breath, seeing the speeder pass by with no notice. He glances at her with a frown. “Plan? What plan? What part of the last twenty minutes made you think I had a plan, Rey? Was it the part where we jumped off a balcony?”

Suddenly, she has more sympathy for Armie, who’d been in much the same position with her, back when things were simpler.

“So. You don’t have a plan.” 

It’s not a question, just her coming to terms with a fact.

“I wasn’t exactly counting on becoming a _fugitive of the Republic_ today, in case that wasn’t clear. Pardon me for not making a plan, just in case you decided this was the perfect day to try and kill your grandfather.”

“Hey, this isn’t my fault, don’t—”

“It’s _entirely_ your fault,” Ben interrupts. He shoots her an annoyed glare, but his expression softens quickly. “Rey. You threatened a _very_ popular Senator in front of half a dozen witnesses and said you’d rather take your chances with a known and armed criminal. And I’m thankful for it, truly, I’m thankful for a _lot_ of what just happened, but right now I’m busy keeping us alive. I don’t have time for plans!”

Despite his words, she doesn’t miss the silver note of happiness seeping through.

“Oh, gods,” she mutters. “You’re enjoying this.”

Ben’s shoulders shake briefly with laughter, but his only reply is, “It’s more my speed than galas and debates.” 

He signals for her to follow him and all the while she keeps the thought of what he said in her head, of how she threatened the Senator in front of witnesses, and how now there’s a ruthless, raging pit inside her begging for satisfaction that can only be brought by feeling his lifeblood on her blade.

Rey shivers.

There’s a swirling mass of speeders in the distance, a virtual hive of them buzzing and hovering around a large cruiser, each of them moving in tandem with each other. There’s the strobing blue and white lights of CSF foot soldiers heading in their direction from one end of the park platform, feeding from another stationary cruiser.

“They’re going to clear the area,” Ben groans, seemingly to himself. Any amusement or lightness that was in his expression fades in an instant. “Evac civilians, lock down park exits, set up a blockade on the skylanes, make sure no one can contradict whatever story they come up to explain this. The senator’s scrambling. He needs this to be clean, so this is a cover-up. Which means… _fuck.”_

“We need to blow it wide open,” she blurts. “Draw attention to it, and escape.”

An idea springs to mind. It’s reckless and stupid, but it’s all she has.

Faintly, she asks, “Hey Ben, do you have any grenades?”

\--*--

It is a _horrible_ idea.

Finding a spare speeder is actually the straightforward part. It’s a closed sports-model speeder, probably belonging to one of the now-evacuated civilians, and it’s docked out in the open instead of in the mandated parking platforms, as if to flaunt the owners’ status.

Part of her wants to jump it and fly all the way back up to the balcony and finish what she started, but unfortunately, they don’t need it airborne. They just need the security system.

“Ready?” Ben asks, giving her a sidelong glance.

 _No,_ she thinks, but this _was_ her idea and they’re running out of time. She nods.

“Once we start, we’re going to be swarmed,” Ben warns. “Just remember to close your eyes.”

“Just shoot it, Ben,” she mutters, jittery with a sense of urgency.

Ben works his mouth and looks down the sight of his blaster, and pulls the trigger. The shot hits the outer casing of the vehicle—the speeder erupts into loud, shrill alarm, calling every badge and gun in the park to them.

“Here we go,” he breathes.

Within seconds the area is swarmed with a frankly excessive amount of firepower. Speeders zip by overhead, surveying the park grounds from the air, while a troop of a dozen officers all come scrambling from the various pathways. They come with shields up, rifles peeking out from behind, and approach the now-blaring sport speeder cautiously, ready for anything. 

Everything seems to slow as the flying officers stabilize their vehicles and prime their cannons at the sports speeder, still in alarm.

“Not yet,” Ben whispers, staying her hand as she readies for the next step. “Not yet _…”_

“Ben, they’re going to find us soon if we don’t act _now.”_

“Not yet,” he repeats, through bared teeth. There’s a wild look in his eyes as he overlooks the unsuspecting officers, a dangerous predatory thing, and this…

This is the man who joined up with the Knights of Ren, she realizes. The man who lost count of his kills and didn’t ask questions.

He blinks, and she swears she sees him turn his gaze to her lips for the briefest of seconds. 

“ _Now,”_ he growls and takes off down the other end of the tree line.

Rey primes the first detonator, waits a terrifying two seconds like instructed, and lobs it out from the tree line. It floats up high in the air, almost gentle, and no one notices it until it’s at its apex.

Someone starts to shout, “Detona—”

The man’s voice fades to nothing as bright, incandescent hellfire explodes into existence above them all. It hits no one, but it _does_ force everyone to hit the ground. Officers on speeders forget the cannons and divert their attention—they’re forced to drop closer to the ground to stabilize their vehicles as the repulsorlifts are thrown off course. 

Ben shoots two shots in quick succession. One shot meets its target and one officer in a speeder slumps forward. His speeder stays mostly stable, but veers even closer to the ground. The second officer jerks away at the last second, swinging their speeder around, cannons flaring up with energy as she scans the area for their assailant.

“Again,” Ben barks through her comm.

Rey grabs the second detonator and does the same as before, this time volleying the grenade lower and to the side, hoping to throw off their guess as to where she is.

The detonator explodes, and this time she sees a trio of officers get blasted back, one stumbling back and over the safety rail of the park platform. His arms are flailing when he goes over, blaster cast aside to the ground.

A blaster shot hits the second officer mounted on the speeder bikes, killing them—the primed canon they were operating swings, and Rey’s mouth falls open as it fires into the group of officers on the ground scrambling to regroup, killing some and scattering many as dust kicks up from the blast. 

In a stomach-turning instant, she sees how Ben lost count.

Off to the side, Ben breaks out into a sprint as he emerges from the tree line.

“Third,” he gasps, sounding like he’s pushing himself.

For this one, Rey sucks in a painful breath and doesn’t even bother to hide where she is. She cocks her arm back and throws the third and last grenade with all her strength, hissing as she pulls something tender and terrible in her sides.

She sees Ben leap up like a cat and grab the underside of one of the speeders that’s still hovering. He swings himself up in one liquid leonine motion, kicking the dead occupant out.

Another officer spots him. They swing the barrel of their weapon up—

“Ben!” she shouts, “Look out!”

“Shit, Rey, look away!” she hears come in across comm.

—and hell opens up before her eyes. Rey falls back, screaming, grabbing at her eyes and ears and trying so hard not to die. Every nerve in her is alight, and she’s _dying,_ she knows it, there’s light and black and her head is splitting and her skin is hot and she hears the officer’s scream as they fall over the railing and she hears her grandfather croon and hiss and she can’t hear— 

\--*--

She wakes up.

The first thing that hits isn’t pain. It’s exhaustion. It’s a bone deep, almost familiar feeling, one she can’t even remember forgetting. It’s not a normal tiredness from hard exercise or even a regular near-death experience. 

This is the kind of exhaustion that travels in the company of death. The kind that walks hand in hand with things that slither in the dark and promise sweet nothings of oblivion from the corners of people’s minds.

It feels like that almost-full week she went without water on Jakku. 

For a single moment, she wonders if she’s back there, and she’s almost relieved at the thought of scratching days she can’t count into rusted surfaces, waiting to wither and die, just like every single scrap collector at Niima Outpost. Everything dies on Jakku. Whether your body keeps moving after has nothing to do with whether you’re alive or not. Distantly, she thinks that sounds much like living under Senator Palpatine’s shadow, in his pretty cage.

Tears prick at her eyes and Rey gasps, the simple action jump-starting the brutal pain in her entire body. Aches and sharp pains demanding attention or restitution or some form of recompense for the abuse she put herself through. Her arms and legs feel leaden, like they belong to someone else, and her ribs send minor thunderstorms of chaos throughout her nervous system with every twitch. 

It hurts to breathe. It’s a _struggle_ to breathe.

Something—someone—shifts in the darkness, and Rey jerks in surprise at the fact she’s not alone. She goes for her knife, draws it, and slashes out, blind, before debilitating agony tears up her nerve endings and she cries out, losing her grip on the handle. 

Panicky, animal instinct takes over, and she thrashes, snarling through the pain, hating her utterly human body,.

Stay back! I—”

“Shhh, Rey,” a voice soothes. It’s a safe voice, one she knows. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe. We’re safe, I promise.”

Rey pauses and swallows the bile building in the back of her throat.

“Ben?”

“I’m right here,” he answers. She doesn’t hear him move, but she can make out his general shape in the darkness, her breath coming in a shudder when his hand finds hers.

She sniffs, working out the scratchy, thick words, “You’re alive.”

Ben hums gently. “So are you. I told you, we’re safe.”

“We escaped?”

“It was close, but… yeah, we did.” His fingers glide over the back of her hand. “I’m going to turn the light on, okay? I think it’s been long enough—your eyes should adjust, and I need to look you over.”

“Okay.” Rey lets out a shaky breath and asks a question she’s afraid to ask. It comes out needy and terrified, almost like she’s begging. “Promise you’ll still be here when the light comes on.”

It’s a silly question, but light has a habit of banishing dreams and shadows and some part of her, some terrified part of her worries he’s a dream. She’s pretty sure his finger stroking her hand is what’s keeping her together, and if he’s only a dream, it might ruin her.

But Ben, with none his usual arrogance or condescension, whispers, “I promise. Right now you’re in my bunk on the Falcon, okay? I’m not leaving the room. I won’t leave you alone in here.” Hesitantly, he adds, “We’re also not locked in. Just in case you were worried.”

The weight of the mattress she presumes she’s laying on shifts as someone sits on the edge. He climbs over her carefully, reaching to something on the other side of the bed, and she’s overwhelmed by how _real_ he is and—

The light comes on. It pricks at her eyes, but then Ben looks down at her.

“You’re alive,” Rey says, letting out a quiet, dry sob. “You’re actually alive.”

It’s almost impossible to think. The last thing she recalls is him climbing up the airspeeder and a CSF blaster firing, aiming at his back.

“And you,” he says, reverting to his normal irritated tone, “Are so fucking foolish sometimes.”

Just like that, he sours the moment. Rey glares up at him as he’s braced over her, and she isn’t even distracted by the overbearing feeling of him on top of her in bed.

“Excuse me?” She tries to sit up a little, but a fresh set of twangs and chords ringing along her nervous system rob her of physical strength. “What do you _mean_ I’m foolish?”

“You looked right at the flash bang after I explicitly told you not to,” he hisses, sounding like he’s deliberately trying to keep his volume down. Something which she feels no particular inclination towards.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snaps, hackles and voice rising at his gall. “Someone was about to shoot you! Did you _want_ to get shot? Here, hand me a blaster and I’ll fix that for you, because I would _love—_ ”

And then she falls silent at the word, because she sees—really sees—the look on his face.

Rey swallows, watching the annoyance on his face fade to something sweeter. Neither of them say anything as he gingerly moves off her and settles beside her, easing his arm around her so she can rest her head against him. Her tears start when he whispers, “Thank you for saving me. I just wish you’d stop putting yourself in danger.”

He sighs, stroking fingers over her hand—probably the one part of her that isn’t throbbing with pain. “We’re on the Falcon,” he says again. “I contacted Hux on the comms, on our way here. He met us here. He’s the one piloting. Or, actually we’re on autopilot, but he’s here. He’s okay. He’s safe. Your grandfather didn’t have time to get to him. We’ll all be a lot safer on Alderaan.”

 _That_ news makes her start to sob. Ben reaches over, wiping tears from her face while she works out, “You— you waited for him? Did you do that for me?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “And we should let him know you’re awake. He’s been worried.”

She turns a little more to the side, only as far as her body allows, and she cries into his chest, burrowing her face into his tunic. Ben hushes her, soothing a gentle hand down her now-messy braid. In a breath, he asks, “You braided it?” At her nod into his chest, he continues, asking hesitantly, “Rey… why did you do it? If it’d been Hux out on that balcony, I’d understand, but—”

“You feel like mine,” she interrupts in a whisper. It’s hardly an explanation, but after a few months of knowing him, it’s the only one she can settle on. With the arm that hurts less, she reaches up and wipes her eyes, resting against him like he’s an exceptional pillow. “Maybe you aren’t, but I don’t have many people, and you feel like one of them. My gut says you’re more mine than anyone else has been. Aren’t you the one who told me to listen to my instincts?”

His mouth presses to the top of her head. “I guess I _did_ say that. And… maybe I am. Yours. Maybe I’d like to be.” Then, in a soft breath, “Nobody’s ever thought I was worth dying for before, you know.”

“It wasn’t an empty offer,” she sighs, feeling her exhaustion taking over with every caress of his hand.

“Yeah, I know,” Ben mumbles against her temple. “Why do you think I pulled us off a balcony?”

Gently, he tilts her head up. Not enough to hurt, but enough so she’s looking up at him. “We have a lot to talk through,” he admits, but there’s such a breathtaking softness in his eyes, Rey can’t bring herself to worry. “But I promise, Palpatine won’t take anything else from you.” Ben shakes his head, just once. “I think that’s why I couldn’t bring myself to leave without Hux. I couldn’t let him take anyone…” He pauses, adding a little awkwardly, “Anyone you love.”

Rey knows exactly what she’s saying, exactly what she’s admitting when she meets his eyes and asks, “Does that mean you’re planning to stick around, then?”

He seems to catch it, too. For a few minutes, all he does is hold her, cradling her and staring down at her, seeming both surprised and… and maybe _not._

“Yeah, Rey,” he finally says. There’s a contentment, an awe that settles on his features. “Yeah. I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)
> 
> [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bad news: This chapter ends on a cliffhanger.
> 
> The good news: I'm nowhere near mean enough to end a chapter on a cliffhanger if I don't plan to update quickly.

The hum of the ship combined with the sound of Ben’s beating heart lulls her, despite the aches and the pains that range from dull throbbing to breathtakingly sharp. Eventually, sleep grabs on and doesn’t let go, strengthened by the pain medication Ben gave her after confirming her injuries aren’t life-threatening. 

Bad, yes. Deadly, no, not with eventual medical assistance, healing bacta, and medications to reduce pain and swelling.

Her sleep is deep enough to be dreamless—something that comes as a relief. Her dreams could hardly be good now that she has a new monster to haunt them, a fresh wicked image of the man who once promised to give her the life she always wanted.

She distantly notices Ben kissing her forehead and easing himself from under her, leaving the door open for her on his way out. Ages later, when she fully wakes, the aches and pains creep back in with prickling discomfort. She cracks her eyes open, welcomed back to the living world by a ray of dim artificial light shining across the floor, coming from the rest of the ship that exists beyond the doorway.

The Falcon, she remembers. They’re on the Falcon.

It’s been ages, and yet likely only hours, since she stood on that balcony looking every bit the Senator’s granddaughter. 

The distant sound of voices accompany the little bit of light, and she begins to move off the bed slowly. Deliberately. Starts with one leg eased over the side of the bed, then works on the second, trying not to gasp or whimper. Once her legs are out from under the covers, her eyes go wide—the little bit of light in the room displays a spread of bruises covering her. Perhaps falling into a tree wasn’t the best thing she’s done, but she hadn’t realized it would be so bad.

With a long exhale, she lets her feet find the floor, and absolutely _everything_ protests when she stands. She gasps out in sharp pains at the shifting weight, a shudder wracking through her. It takes a moment to feel anything else, but she catches her shallow breath, grimacing down at her possibly broken, or at least terribly bruised, ribs. Whatever she was wearing—a sweater, she thinks—has either been cut off her or removed while she slept. There’s a mess of bacta and gauze wrapped around her middle, over the area that makes her nerves scream with every movement.

Draping a blanket over her shoulders and around her front to cover her breast band and bare abdomen, she manages to make it out the door and into a narrow corridor. Briefly, she bites her mouth closed to avoid laughing at the thought that Armie and Ben once _shared_ these close quarters, but she knows without testing it out that laughter would be brutal on her ribs. She tries to push aside the image of the two of them arguing over a single fresher.

As she wanders closer to their voices, something burning lances at her side. Rey catches the wall beside her with the arm that hurts a little less, steadying herself as she squeezes her eyes shut.

“…Oh, I’ve heard the rumors.” There’s a soft laugh. “Ridiculous, aren’t they?” Then, in a more somber tone, “No, romantic love was never something I was desperate for,” she hears someone say. “What I lacked, until meeting her, was family who wanted me. My father—I’m sure you know of Brendol Hux—was abusive, my mother turned an eye and frankly, treated me as an inconvenience. But I was a junior intern, just a teenager and barely old enough to make the cutoff, when I met Senator Palpatine.” 

There’s a long pause, a cleared throat, and then an uncomfortable, “He saw a bruise one day, one I wasn’t able to hide, and he asked questions. At the time, I thought of him as a savior.”

Armie’s always been more open than her. Always more matter-of-fact, always more upfront and honest with his past in a way she rarely trusts people enough to be. 

Ben stays quiet, but Armie continues, “I hate to admit the man _did_ save my life, no matter his motives. And I met Rey. She was such a tiny thing, too. He’d been starving her, bending her to his will in exchange for food, and I met her and she was still such a bright thing, despite all of it. He’d tortured her even if she didn’t know it, but I still saw that little bit of hope in her, that little bit of joy even if she didn’t. She needed me, and I needed that.”

Her heart warms at the overheard conversation, and she smiles through her pained wince, leaning against the wall as she listens.

When tears prick at her eyes, they’re less thanks to the pain, and more brought on by the memory of meeting Armie. 

He’d been tall and gangly, his face ashen and tired, and now that she’s older and more aware, her heart sinks to remember the saddened expression his young face had taken on as she answered more and more of his questions. She remembers the first morning they spent out in the city, her little hand squeezed tight by his while he collected ingredients for a feast. She remembers sitting on the counter and swinging her legs while she watched him cook the first full meal she’d had in days.

“You know,” Armie says softly, “The fastest way to grow up and stop needing your parents is to be relied on by a child. I cooked her meals for years, dressed her, bathed her, helped her through nightmares. I was more her family than anyone, certainly more than Palpatine ever was. Despite the rumors that have circulated, it’s never been like that. I love her with all my self, but it’s love in the way a parent or sibling feels it.”

His words are resolute, and said with the casual tone of a person stating their own name. That, more than anything, is what makes her cry.

“I would die for her. I suppose recent events have only taught me she will never do anything bad enough to stop that.”

One of them must hear her crying, even though she tries to keep it quiet with her face buried in her hands. There’s a squeaking sound of a chair, weight shifting, footsteps, and then suddenly, hands are landing at her shoulders and surrounding her, wrapping her in a hug that’s painful and arms that are _home._

Armie lets her cry into his shoulder, chiding with no real discouragement, “What have I said about eavesdropping?” A little laughter bubbles up in her throat, but it jostles her in a way that makes her sides scream. He hushes her whimper, soothing a hand down her messy braid. “Ben told me everything,” he murmurs, pulling back enough to kiss her temple. “I’m so relieved you made it out alive.” He sighs, sounding exhausted. “I don’t know what I’d have done if—”

“I know, I know,” she breathes, her words thin through the agony in her sides. “He threatened to kill you, I was so scared.”

He hushes her again and holds her there for a minute before he finally asks, “How much of that did you hear?”

“All of it, probably,” she answers with a mumble, her eyes shut as she rests against him.

“Nothing you didn’t already know?”

“Not really.” She pauses then, reviewing, and adds, “I love you, too. No matter what you do.”

He huffs, and for a moment, she worries that summing everything he said into _I love you_ may have done it an injustice, but he only says, “You’re seeing a med droid as soon as possible. Ben said you not only fell _into_ a tree, but you also fell _from_ the tree? And you looked directly at a flashbang? What were you thinking? That could have—”

Rey interrupts with a groan, but the sound is muffled against his shoulder. “Are you _always_ going to parent me?”

“Yes,” he says plainly. “I’m surprised you haven’t grown used to it by now.”

The surety in his voice, the unspoken promise that he’ll always be there no matter what, causes something to squeeze around her heart. Slowly, Rey leans back and looks up at him. Concern is written all over his face, and he shakes his head at her, reaching up to wipe away her tears.

“I am _always_ going to worry about you, even if you decide to dedicate your life to threatening the lives of corrupt politicians,” he promises, his mouth threatening to curl into a half-smile. “Though I really would prefer you limit it to this _one,_ and then find a nice planet to settle on.”

She rolls her eyes. “I think we have quite a bit to figure out first.”

“Unfortunately, I agree.” Armie pulls away carefully, seeming mindful of her injuries. He mutters, “Med droid, _immediately,_ ” again, and then takes her hand, walking her gingerly out into the cockpit where he and Ben must have been sitting together.

A soft smile graces Ben’s face as he leans back in the pilot’s chair, his arms folded over his chest. “She’s awake.”

Rey smiles back, nodding. “She _is._ Also sore and in need of eventual medical attention, but _yes,_ I’m awake.” She steals the seat next to him, the one Armie must have been in, and eases herself into the worn swiveling co-pilot’s chair. “Where are we headed? Alderaan?”

“That’s the plan,” Ben confirms. “I’m about to try reaching my father on comms again. He hasn’t been answering, but—”

A voice barks out over the comms, startling her. 

“Kid? That you? Shit, what the—”

Ben leans forward, quickly pressing a button in-front of him. “Dad? I’ve been trying to get you on comms, I’m on the Falcon, headed your way.”

“No shit,” the infamous Han Solo barks. There’s a sound like a long sigh on his end. “Kriff, you really caused a mess. You got that girl with you? The senator’s grandkid? It’s all over the holo, Ben. You didn’t really kidnap her, did you?”

Wiping a hand down his face, Ben lets out a long groan and looks over at her. “I _knew_ he was going to— what did I say? I knew it the _minute_ we jumped off that balcony, that lying sack of—”

“Mister Solo?” she interrupts. Really, at this point, a kidnapping accusation is the least of their problems. “Mister Solo,” she says to the console, “This is Rey Palpatine, I am _not_ on this ship against my will, but I _am_ seeking asylum on your planet. My grandfather attempted to have your son and I killed.”

Everything goes quiet for a moment, before the man on the other end of the conversation mutters, “Ben, what the fuck have you gotten yourself mixed up in now? I thought you were working as a bodyguard.”

“Technically, yes. I can explain, but—”

“You like her,” Han says, sounding resigned, “Don’t you?”

Rey raises a brow as she glances over at Ben, whose cheeks have turned pink. “That’s beside the point.”

“Sure it is,” his father grumbles. “Well, what’d you do to piss Palpatine off, anyway?”

Ben seems to flounder for an answer, so Rey answers tiredly, “I believe it’s me he was angry with, Mister Solo. I’m seeking asylum on Alderaan and I believe Senator Organa sent you a datapad that may be relevant to ending my grandfather’s career. I can’t be sure, but I believe he has secret plans in the works, and he seemed concerned with the idea that someone might discover them. We all have quite a lot to discuss, so can you please confirm that you _do_ have the datapad, and that I’ll be granted asylum if we land on Alderaan? I’d rather not arrive to simply be sent back to my grandfather, and I can promise you I have information that will help Senator Organa win this election.”

“Not sure it’s that simple,” Han says with a terrifying amount of hesitation in his voice. “Got a couple problems here. I’ve got the datapad, but you’re not getting anything off this thing. Leia put her best people on it, but this thing’s encrypted, better than anyone’s been able to crack. So there’s that, and…” 

He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is grave.

“Ben, they know. Everyone knows. About me and your mother. Palpatine must’ve leaked it to the press. The proof’s out on the holo. Your grandma’s trying to calm things down and it looks like everything will be fine here—you know how well-liked the family is on Alderaan, but the galaxy’s another story. I don’t have have a lot of enemies here, but out there it’s another story.”

Ben breathes in so sharply, she looks over at him with wide, wondering eyes. And then it strikes her, the alarm she’d seen in his expression when one of the Crimson Dawn members accused him of being Leia Organa’s son. Lots of little pieces settle in as she considers how scandalous it really is, a galactic senator involved with a known criminal and wanted man. 

Perhaps she and Armie had known, but… was that only because her grandfather knew? Was it not common knowledge?

She stares at Ben, waiting for an answer, waiting for this discussion to end so she can ask.

“How’s mom taking it?” he asks, his voice thick.

“I don’t know. She’s on her way here,” his father confirms. “Just to be safe. Dunno if there’s still a bounty out on me or if any bounty hunters are bold enough to target her just to get to me, so we don’t want to risk her being off-planet. She’ll be safer here.”

Ben asks his next question softly. “I assume her campaign for first senator is over?”

“May as well be. They’re pushing the vote up. She’s still senator, that won’t change, but… Palpatine’s got First Senator, no doubt. Seems like he was waiting for the right time to drop the bombshell, and he dropped it along with the news that you kidnapped his grandkid. Doesn’t look good. I don’t know if they’re implicating your mom, but they’re not shy about suggesting you kidnapped the girl to force Palpatine into conceding. They’re not real shy about mentioning your work with the Knights of Ren, either. You’re taking the heat for a lot of shit right now.”

“Kriff,” Ben breathes out. “Kriff, I didn’t think—”

“Just get home, kid,” the man says gruffly, “We’ll figure it out. The stuff about me and your mom was going to come out eventually, but it came out at a bad time and in a bad way.” He sighs again. “We shouldn’t have tried to hide it, not when it was already rumored. But anyway, how close are you to Alderaan?”

Ben takes a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t know. You’re not going to like this, but we need to know what’s on that datapad, and if mom’s people can’t do it, there’s only one person I know who can. She’s on Takodana.”

“Takodana? Kid, this isn’t a good time to be out in the Falcon, of all ships, especially—”

“Dad,” Ben interrupts. “We need someone who can get that data. I’ll swap ships there if I have to, I’m sure Maz will have something she can spare.”

“ _No,_ you aren’t—”

“This isn’t a group decision,” Ben insists. “We need to know what’s on that datapad."

There’s a long pause before Han mutters, “You’re as stubborn as your mother. Okay, you’ve gotta get off the Falcon, I get that, and if you think you can get someone to crack the thing, fine. Let Maz know you’re coming and see if she’ll store the Falcon until I can get Chewie or Lando to pick it up. But then you get here, and get here _safe,_ Ben. You’ve got a lot of people looking for you. Who do you know on Takodana? You sure you can trust them? Better not be one of those Knights.”

“No, no, not one of the knights.” He pauses, seeming almost numb as he stares out into space. “I know a slicer. She works for Maz. She might be able to get past the encryption, but…” Ben stops short, working his jaw. “She might not be happy to see me, but I’ll get her to Alderaan. We’ll figure it out. She’s the best slicer I know.”

He goes quiet, and then asks, his voice threaded with something worried and raw, “Is mom angry? I just— I think I’ve ruined her career, her reputation. Or what was left of it.” His words go shaky, and then shakier when Rey reaches out and grabs his hand. “If I’d just stayed on Alderaan, if I—”

“Stop thinking like that,” his father chides. “Y’know, the first thing your mom said when she comm’d to say she was headed here was that she was worried about you. She knew you hadn’t done what they’re saying. She assumed Palpatine set you up. Neither of us blame you for anything. We miss you, we want you home, we’re worried about you, but we aren’t _angry._ Just get home, Ben.”

When Ben doesn’t reply, she squeezes his hand harder, cringing at the sparks of pain that shoot up her arm. It doesn’t quite feel her place to answer in his stead, but he’s more and more distant by the second.

Armie clears his throat and speaks up. “This is Hux—we’ll get him to Alderaan as quickly as possible, sir. It’s the least we can do at this point, but can we get confirmation that your family will keep Rey and I safe while on your planet? We’ll not be arrested?” 

Han huffs a laugh. “I hate to think what my kid would do if we tried it. Look, if you’re as willing to help take down Palpatine as you say, I’m sure we’ll be friends.”

Armie gives a quiet, but determined confirmation of, “We’re more than willing.”

Ben seems lost, staring out into space with a blank expression, even as she squeezes his hand, trying to bring him back to the ship.

“Fine,” Han says finally. “Then stay safe and get to Alderaan. Don’t let my kid try and be a hero.”

She stares at the slow-growing resolve on Ben’s face, the slightest bit of fury that she recognizes all too well in herself, slipping in around the edges. She soothes her thumb over the back of his hand, urging him back to the present and away from the gruesome and violent thoughts she guesses are playing in his mind—the urge to murder her grandfather, Rey assumes.

Or maybe she’s wrong, and maybe she’s projecting. Maybe Ben is simply angry with himself. 

Either way, she lies, because as much as she’d like to do exactly what Han Solo is asking, the man asks the impossible.

“Yes, sir,” she promises, a wholly untimely grin playing at the corner of her mouth. “We’ll make sure Ben doesn’t get himself into more trouble.”

Han snorts as though he knows just how unlikely that is.

\--*--

They sleep in shifts, with Rey reluctantly agreeing to take longer sleep shifts after both her companions overrule her protests that she’s fine. Not that she argues much. The throbbing that pulses through her body and the sharp stabs that come with every breath sap much of the fight from her. So she sleeps. The pain meds in the ship’s med kit make everything hazy, fuzzy around the edges, and she falls asleep to the comforting thought that she’s in Ben’s bunk, a place he’s slept many nights. She sleeps and sleeps, caught in a dreamless fog only interspersed with sparks of needles in her sides when she turns in her sleep.

The movement wakes her up, makes her groan as she slowly sits up and slides off the bed, trying to stay quiet; she smiles faintly at the sight of Armie, sleeping on the bunk above her.

Back in the cockpit, she finds Ben piloting, flying closer and closer to a mass of green and blue that’s further from the Core Worlds than she’s traveled since arriving on Coruscant. He doesn’t flinch or startle when she takes the copilot’s seat.

“I’m going to land us close to the forest,” he says quietly. “By the Castle. It’s Maz Kanata’s place. Friend of my dad’s, sort of. Last I knew, this is where Tico settled. She’s the slicer we need. I already checked in, so they’re expecting us.”

Rey nods, but she doesn’t reply. She’s too stunned, looking out at the planet they’re rapidly approaching. Ben flies them in a smooth path, gliding over an ocean—an _ocean—_ and then what seems like an endless forest.

She wants to weep at it, at the green and the blue; colors she’s only seen in _made_ things. Things like furniture or clothing or paints or holos.

“The closest I’ve been to an ocean is on Coruscant,” she whispers. “The Great Western Sea, this reservoir with man-made islands that tourists always flock to. But I haven’t even _been_ there, I’ve just been on the same planet as it. I’ve never even seen it myself.”

She stares out at everything, even as he looks over at her.

“You’ve never seen an ocean?”

Rey shakes her head absentmindedly, her eyes widening at the sea of forest before them. “Never been off Coruscant,” she amends. “Not once I was on it. I went from Jakku to that little apartment, and once I was there, that was it.” And then, in a breath, “There’s so much green.”

“So you’ve never seen mountains? You’ve never swam in a lake? Never sunned yourself on a beach?”

He asks as though he’s distraught.

Rey frowns over at him. “At what point do you think I may have done any of that?”

He doesn’t answer, and only flattens his lips together. The ground begins to loom before them, and he moves forward in his seat, taking more command over the navigation. 

The board before them is covered in switches and blinking lights, and she’s reminded of the ancient flight simulator she used to practice with on Jakku, so many years ago. Trying not to sound as excited by the thought as she is, Rey asks, “There seems to be a lot going on here—can I help?”

Ben gives a quick nod, flipping a button above him. “See the yellow light? Flip the row of switches next to it.”

They continue that for a minute, him issuing soft-spoken orders and her co-piloting. The way he lowers then down, easing them toward the very edge of a forest, seems to come with such ease, Rey briefly wonders if flying skills are genetic or if Han Solo is just an excellent teacher.

The Falcon settles with the slightest shudder, and they sit there for a minute, both staring out the front.

“I could teach you,” he offers suddenly, his voice hesitant. “How to pilot. Assuming—”

“We live?”

Ben pauses, his mouth twisting. “I was going to say _assuming you’d like that.”_

“Oh,” she laughs dryly, but her laugh turns into a breathy swear. 

His eyes widen, and any amusement in his expression seeps away. Gently, he says, “As soon as we’re somewhere safe,” he gestures to her middle, “We’re going to have someone take a look at you. And while we’re here, we’ll stock up on bacta.”

“And what about you?” she argues, though it’s half-hearted. “We _both_ need medical attention.”

“Your injuries are worse,” he points out. “We’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.” He pauses, frowning out at all the green they’re facing, sitting just outside the Falcon. “We need to keep a low profile, even here. Think that’s possible?”

Rey takes a single look down at herself, at her torn-up leggings and her breast-band, and grimaces. 

“I think so, but I better change, maybe into—”

And then she stops, and her shoulders sag. It’s such a little thing, such a ridiculous indulgence she grew used to, but the thought of her wardrobe being lost to her forever—everything from the intimidating suits and uncomfortable dresses, to spare arm-wraps and tunics much like she left Jakku with—something about all of it being left behind, back in a place she may never return to, makes something sink in her gut.

But it’s lucky she left at all, even if it was without the pretty, glittering indulgences that came with the life of a caged little bird.

Rey clears her throat. “I’ll need something to wear. Maybe a cloak?”

“We’ve got to wake Hux up anyway,” Ben nods. He winces as he stands, but holds a hand out to her. 

She doesn’t hesitate to take it.

\--*--

Most of her attention catches at the unfamiliarities surrounding them as they walk to what Ben calls _Maz’s Castle._ Rey’s not so sheltered to have never seen artwork and images of nature—usually depictions of what Coruscant may have once been—but as she’s learned, there’s a difference between an expectation and reality. 

And for once, as her gaze flits from brilliant green-grey ferns to impossibly tall trees to _flowers—_ gods the _flowers,_ bushes of flowering flashes of fuscia and violet, cobalts and a color that reminds her a bit too much of blood—

Rey stops that particular path of thought.

For once, she decides, reality has outdone her expectations.

With the squeeze of a hand, Ben’s around hers, she’s gently prodded back to the present, back to their goal, the reason they’re here. She sighs, works her mouth, but pushes aside the brightness that tugs at her attention.

It’s a lucky thing that she was too distracted by the planet’s natural beauty to set any sort of expectations for the castle. From the outside, it’s… decrepit. Far from the weathered and beaten down structures on Jakku, but also far from anything she might call a _castle._ Still, Rey’s taken aback when they approach it, when she takes a more considering look. Vines and greenery creep up over stone walls, as though beings once _attempted_ to build up the planet and lost their battle, letting nature overtake their structures more and more with each passing year. The green vines and leaves thread in and out of crevices.

When they pass under an archway leading into a courtyard, Rey stares up at the thick ropes of vibrant green that wrap around the stone arch.

Her foot twists as she misses a dip in the path. She stumbles, rights herself quickly, but the sudden jolt sends fresh drumbeats of pain through her—a painful reminder of their need to restock on bacta patches and pain relievers.

From barely a step behind her, Armie asks, “Are you okay?” 

His voice is laced with more concern than his expression lets on as he moves to walk beside her. She waves off his worry and carefully readjusts her new outfit; a tunic, pants, boots, and cloak that all once belonged to Ben. A much younger Ben, she guesses, considering the size of them. In less than an hour of wearing the clothes, they feel more _hers_ than most of what still fills her closets on Coruscant.

At her lack of audible answer, Ben glances back over his shoulder, silent but inquisitive all the same.

With a roll of her eyes, Rey says, “I’m fine.” There’s a sharp jab in her side, and she can’t help but wheeze as she straightens her posture to meet his heavy stare. “Okay,” she winces, “Not fine. But I’m fine _for now.”_

Just as Ben’s about to say something—something scolding, no doubt—his eyes widen. He tugs down the hood of his own cloak, nodding to a pair of curious onlookers standing not far from the Castle’s entrance. In a murmur, he warns, soft and low, “This may be neutral territory, but we can’t draw attention to ourselves.”

Armie’s attention cuts sharply to him. “You said this would be a safe place.”

Now that she’s considering it, Armie is the one of them that looks most out of place. His hair is still coiffed, his stance stiff, his skin clean and unmarred with bruises or cuts. She and Ben may accurately look like they’ve both fallen from a tree, been chased, and nearly blown up, but given the look of the Castle and the pair still watching them from near the entry, that’s normal for the Castle’s patrons.

“It’s safe,” Ben assures. Then, hesitantly, “Mostly.”

Armie’s eyes widen, his mouth warping into an accusatory frown, but Ben add quickly, “The people we’re here to see can be trusted. We just don’t know who may be watching. Come on,” he says, hastening his pace as though he isn’t just as injured as she, “My contact’s expecting us. Try not to step off the path. There’s no telling what traps are waiting to be set off.”

Both she and Armie freeze at that.

Armie blanches. He clears his throat as they begin to follow carefully after Ben. “You are _joking,_ correct?” 

When Ben doesn’t answer, Armie curses under his breath.

Maz’s Castle, as Ben explained while they were still on the Falcon, was one of the few places he and the Knights consider neutral territory in the Galaxy. Per Ben, the Outer Rim is too full of Hutts, while most Core worlds have too many prying eyes. At the Castle, most people are only looking for a drink without having to worry if they’re going to get a knife in the back. Violators of that neutrality, Ben explained with heavy warning, tend not to leave the building.

What first strikes her when they leave the fresh air of the outdoors behind them and enter the main hall, is how _alive_ it feels. The room is filled with smooth percussive beats of live music, not quite rhythmic enough to conjure the memory of a heartbeat, but alive all the same. There’s an alluring scent of spice and woodsmoke, and an air of rowdiness from the clientele.

It’s nothing like she ever saw on Jakku, yet also worlds away from the clubs she and Armie made habit of sneaking off to on Coruscant.

There’s a large circular bar in the center of the room, manned by a droid that’s either scrap or designed by a genius, from scrap parts. There’s none of the spotlessly buffed and chrome aesthetic she’s used to from anything on Coruscant. Species and sapients—some she’s only seen in holos, some she’s entirely unfamiliar with—sit at various booths and tables, some playing games, some chatting, many drinking, and a not insignificant number of them huddled around dejarik tables, currency switching hands faster than she can follow.

It’s dizzying, Rey finds as she catches sight of one Trandoshan slipping a pair of cards from a sabacc pile. Something brushes up beside her and she instinctively reaches for the vibroknife hidden and strapped to her forearm. It’s only luck that makes her pause, stopping her from stabbing what turns out to be a young human wearing a brown apron.

“Tac!” a voice shouts, piercing through the din, “Tac, get back to your station before I dock your pay again!”

The human—no older than a teenager, Rey guesses, feeling a surge of panic at how quickly she reached for her blade—jerks, bows, mumbling something not in Basic, and tries to rush past them.

Ben grabs the back of their shirt.

“Nice try, kid,” he snorts, seeming amused. “Next time, wait until they’re past the doors for more than minute. Better yet, don’t try that while wearing a uniform.”

Tac looks mutinous, and sheepish, before they dig into their pockets, emptying them. A clatter of coins, cards, and trinkets hit the floor, along with one miniaturized datapad that Rey recognizes as Armie’s. With a shake of his head, Ben lets the teen go, watching them disappear into a mess of bodies that start scooping the coins.

“I thought you said this place was safe,” Armie mutters, brushing off his datapad and scowling at it, like it’s picked up offending germs.

Ben’s mouth quirks. “By _safe,_ I meant we probably won’t die. I never said anything about getting stolen from. We’re not making backdoor deals from the comfort of a luxury high rise anymore. Anything you lose, you deserve to lose it. Keep your things close and don’t trust anyone unless I tell you to.”

“How civilized,” Armie mutters.

“We’ll be _fine,_ ” Ben says, a tiredness creeping into his tone. “Just stick close, and _don’t_ call attention to—”

Before he can finish his warning, there’s a booming, friendly voice that utterly destroys any hope they had of keeping a low profile.

“Ben _Solo!”_

It’s nearly shouted across the room, and grabs the attention of at least a few patrons. The blood seems to drain from Ben’s already pale face, and any tiredness or weariness he’s been hiding rushes into his expression. He sighs, and turns to meet a short orange humanoid, approaching them with their arms out, wide and welcoming.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” they say, curiosity dripping from every word. “Been a while since I’ve had to kick you or one of your friends out!”

Ben’s mouth tightens at the edges. “Hi, Maz.”

Maz barely comes up to his waist. She wears goggles on her small, deep-seated eyes, and simple muted colors reminiscent of a desert. She stops before them, hands on her hips, and considers each of them before she speaks again.

Her mouth curls into a fond smile when her gaze gets to Ben. 

“Troublemaker,” she says, almost fondly. “Never a dull moment with your family, hm?” Maz glances to Armie, to her, and asks, “You two know what you’re getting into?”

Rey mutters, “I’m pretty sure _we’re_ the troublemakers, actually.”

Maz narrows her eyes, fiddling with her goggles and sliding lenses over each eye. She leans in, takes a closer look, and Rey nearly backs away with the discomfort that comes from the feeling of being _seen._ After a long pause, Maz lets out a low chuckle. “Yes, I suppose so.” She huffs, declaring, “Good! Anyone fool enough to follow a _Solo_ around should know it won’t be peaceful.” She turns back to Ben, crossing her arms, and says in a suddenly serious tone, “They’re waiting. In the back. I won’t tell you three to disarm, but...” Maz eyes her closely. “My people have permission to put a few holes in you three if you start anything.”

Ben runs a hand through his hair. “Wonderful,” he grimaces. “Does everyone know what happened?”

“Everyone knows _something_ happened.” Maz shrugs and slams her hand on a nearby table of where a Trandoshan and a human are arm-wrestling. “That’s plenty. You can explain the rest. Now go on, and,” She pauses, a hint of a smile creeping into her expression, “Next time you see your uncle, tell he still owes me a date.”

And then she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd, grabbing drinks, interrupting arguments, and utterly uninterested in the three fugitives in her establishment.

“Come on,” Ben sighs, gesturing for them to follow him. They stay close as he leads them to the back of the room and through a heavy curtain that muffles the room’s noise as they pass through it. “I think Maz will keep our presence here quiet for a bit, but I wouldn’t be surprised if someone already knows. Doesn’t help that she yelled my name across the kriffing room. The Falcon’s not that good at blending in, either.”

Armie’s voice is tense. “You think? You mean an infamous forty-year old Corellian freighter _isn’t_ subtle? Who would have thought.”

“It’s a family heirloom,” is all Ben says, his voice clipped, as he navigates them through the halls and turns of the castle. He stops before a door, checks his holsters, and meets her eyes. 

It strikes her then, how quiet she’s stayed. Armie’s done most of the talking for them, while she’s stopped and just… taken it all in. The sights, the smells—good and bad, the _beings._ It all makes her feel as small, as insignificant, as Coruscant tends to.

Ben graces her with a tiny, brief smile as he murmurs, “You heard Maz. Try not to pick a fight, sweetheart. They might not be happy to see us, but they’re good people.”

“I’ll do my best,” she huffs, arching a brow. There’s a deep ache as she crosses her arms over her chest, and she adds lowly, “I’m not sure I’m feeling up for a fight, anyway.”

Concern pinches at his features while he leans over her, but he nods. He turns slightly to knock at the door, and before his knuckles have even left the surface of the door, it opens. A tawny-skinned woman in dark leathers, wearing what may be an entire cache of weapons on her person stands there, suspicion lining her face and blocking their view of the inside of the room behind her. Her hair is hidden under a pilot’s cap, and in an instant, she takes the entirety of them in before focusing on Ben.

“Kylo Ren,” she says, without inflection. “Or is it… _Ben Solo?”_

Ben looks unmoved by her obvious hostility, but he _does_ frown at her use of his name. “Paige.”

The woman’s mouth curls into a deep frown, and her gaze flits to Rey and Armie. “Well, you don’t _look_ kidnapped.”

“Only rumors,” Ben clarifies.

“Very _official_ rumors,” Paige corrects. “You must have pissed off someone important. Any of your Knight friends joining the party?”

Ben seems to hesitate before admitting, “I hope not. The Knights and I parted ways for good.” 

“Doesn’t mean they’re done with you,” Paige shoots back, before jerking her head at Rey. “Or _Miss Palpatine_ here. Talk travels fast. The Republic’s not the only group looking for you three.”

There’s a strange sense of irritation that sets in with the reminder of her own name, and Rey blurts, “Are you going to let us in or are we going to keep standing around doing nothing?” She directs her glare toward Ben, despite the voice in her mind reminding her how utterly undeserving of it he is, “Didn’t you say these people would help us?”

Paige snorts. “Sorry to break it to you, but right now, we’re leaning on doing nothing. We’re not the ones on a timetable here. Why _should_ we help you?”

“Because we have information crucial to the survival of the Republic with us,” Armie hisses, looking over his shoulder afterwards as if to make sure he hadn’t summoned a shadow of her grandfather. “Or, perhaps not _on_ us, but we know where it is. It’s data Palpatine wants. We don’t know what it is, but we believe it’s evidence of his corruption. People, _good_ people have died for—”

“You keep talking,” Paige cuts in, her hands twitching towards the blaster in side-holster, “And you keep making my case for me. Why would we get involved if—”

Another voice cuts in, this time from inside the room. “Pae-Pae, it’s okay. Let them in. We can at least hear them out.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Paige warns over her shoulder. She’s no longer stern. Oddly, her voice has taken on the same sort of concern Rey is used to hearing from Armie.

The voice inside the room is softer, younger, but no less affectionate. “Maybe. But why not hear them out?”

Paige frowns, spares them another withering look, and steps aside from the doorway, revealing a darkly lit ornate room with a pair of high windows on the far wall. There’s a set of cots shoved against one wall. More wiring and internal machinery than Rey’s ever seen lies on a long worktable, taking up almost a third of the room. There’s a booth in the corner where a dark-skinned man and a woman with a sharply-cut bob of hair are sitting, both of them watching a mounted holo screen, tuned in to a broadcast.

As they step inside, Rey spots her own face flashing across the holo screen, quickly followed by the footage of Ben sweeping her into his arms and jumping off the Senate balcony. The scene cuts to a different angle, footage from a different camera orbiting the Senate building, and she gets to watch the two of them plunge to their near death, her tinny screaming easily mistaken for something fearful and not full of murderous rage. She watches intently as the recording cuts out, just as the Ben on the screen drops her onto the tree branch—the _thud_ and _snap_ of the branch coinciding with the sympathy twinge from her ribs. Rapid typescript in several languages starts scrolling along, with a harried news anchor reading it all off.

“Kriff,” Armie breathes out. He’s paler than usual as he watches the footage loop. “I know you told me about it, but I had no idea…”

“The footage is missing the part where she obviously threatens her grandfather,” the woman in the booth speaks up. She’s wearing her own set of muted practical gear, some kind of goggles to keep her hair out of her eyes, and she holds a stylus in one of her hands as she scrolls through a datapad faster than Rey can follow. “Something all the official sources are disregarding as well. Seems someone’s doing takedowns whenever the full footage gets uploaded to the holonet. Don’t suppose you might know who’s doing that?”

“Hey, Rose,” Ben says, sounding as distracted by the footage as Rey feels. “I think we have a good idea of who’s responsible.”

Rose nods at Paige, who shuts the door behind them and glides into a corner where she leans against the wall. Rose waves to the chairs in front of her table. “Sit. If you’re reaching out to us, you must be desperate.”

Rey hesitates, unwilling to put her back to the door or Paige behind them. But Ben takes the far left seat without a second thought, so she reluctantly follows suit, sliding into the middle seat, with Armie on her right. 

Ben gestures to Rose. “Rey, Hux, meet Rose Tico. Paige’s sister, and one of the best slicer’s I’ve ever worked with. She can break through anything given enough time.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Rose drawls, stopping him from continuing. “No need to introduce yourselves. Everyone knows who you are by now. Ben Solo, the rumored runaway prince of Alderaan turned contract killer. Armitage Hux, youngest member of Senator Palpatine’s staff. Ruthless, efficient, and known for getting things done, no matter who he has to crush.” Her stare meets Rey’s. “And… _you.”_

Rey’s eyes narrow at the woman’s tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not worth my time to explain that to you,” Rose fires back. The woman looks to Ben, seeming done with her. “What do you want? Strange you’d trust us now that you’re the most wanted man in the galaxy, especially since you never trusted us enough to give us your real name.”

“For which I’m sorry,” Ben mutters. “But like you said, I wouldn’t be bothering you if I wasn’t desperate.” He pauses, and then his head jerks to the man sitting next to Rose, seemingly at ease despite the growing tension in the room. “Who’s the civilian?”

“Not a civilian,” the man corrects with surprising warmth. He extends a hand, and when none of them move shake it, he retracts his arm, still smiling. With a little shrug, he says, “Name’s Finn. Rose sent me a comm, soon as she heard from you.”

Rey blanches, the ache of her entire body keeping her from reacting more harshly. With a scowl directed at Rose, she asks, “Are you _trying_ to get us killed? Have you told anyone else?” 

Rose fixes her with a stern expression. “He’s a friend and he’s trustworthy.” _Unlike you_ goes unsaid. “I used a secure channel, so you don’t need to worry about anyone unexpected dropping in because of me.”

“We can trust them,” Ben says gently, leaning closer. His hand finds hers as she grips her sheathed blade. His fingers soothe her until she eases her grip, and finally lets go and twines her fingers with his. He adds, “I wouldn’t have brought us here if I didn’t believe that.”

Curiosity crosses Rose’s expression as she watches them, but then everyone’s attention snaps to Armie as he snaps his fingers. “I know you!” he blurts, gesturing to Finn.

The man across from them blinks at the declaration. He trades a significant look with Rose, and the two of them tense.

“You’re that investigative journalist, the one who throws himself into war zones!” Armie says, a mix of wonder and admiration in his voice. “You _must_ have a death-wish—You don’t even use a security team, do you?”

“It’s not just warzones, and I wouldn’t say I have a _death-wish,_ ” Finn counters, but there’s no heat in his voice. He slumps back into his seat, crossing his arms and drinking the rest of a glass of water. “I’m just…dedicated. There’s a lot of awful stuff going on in this galaxy and not enough people paying attention. Not enough news sources covering things, either.”

Rose pats him on the arm, the gesture familiar and oddly sweet. “How many times have I told you to hire security?”

“Rosie,” he says in a half-whine. “If I bring security, that attracts attention, you _know_ this.” There’s a moment between the two of them, full of silent argument the two of them have seemingly had before now, before Finn’s gaze breaks away. He sighs, glancing to Armie. “But, yes. That’s me. I’m the one who _throws himself into war zones,_ and—”

Rey’s head tilts with a sudden surge of confusion as she catches what he’s said. “War zones?” she interrupts, “What war?”

An uncomfortable silence settles across the room. Finn looks to the others with an expression of unease and maybe confusion before answering slowly, “Well, there’s the destabilizing Mandalorian civil war, the extensive military bases being built on Dantooine, the several massacres being performed in the name of humanitarianism by certain Republic affiliated militias.” His expression turns bitter. “And so on.”

“What?” Rey swallows, feeling something heavy and leaden fall into her gut. Ben’s hand squeezes hers. “Are you serious? Why haven’t I heard about this? Why hasn’t _anyone_ …” 

She trails off, and realizes she’s the only one not surprised by this. Next to her, Ben admits, “You aren’t the only person on Coruscant who isn’t aware.” He hesitates, and then says, “What you see on Coruscant’s news stations is often either a heavily sanitized story, or they’ve skipped over the truth entirely.” Then, lowly, “I’m sure you can guess who’s responsible.”

_Palpatine._

Nobody even has to say it.

“My stories don’t tend to hit popular channels,” Finn concedes, but the reassurance feels hollow. “I’m not a big name. I’m just…persistent.” He nods once to Armie, “I’m guessing that’s why you know me.” 

At her side, Armie explains, “At the start of Palpatine’s campaign for First Senator, everyone was given a dossier on any potential troublesome elements.” He pulls at his collar, loosening the tight set of it, but still looking uncomfortable. “And instructions on how to deal with them, if needed.”

Rose huffs in disgust. “I’m guessing this dossier included contact information for various mercenary guilds?”

Armie looks pained, but he doesn’t deny it.

Finn whistles, sounding impressed. “Not to make light of bad situation, but that must mean I’m doing something right.” At Rose’s chiding smack of his arm, he chuckles. “Hey, hey! I’m just saying!”

Rey cracks her first smile since they disembarked, and realizes that out of all of them, Finn is perhaps the most dangerous. Anyone who can lighten the mood in a room like this, anyone who feels trustworthy after so little time…

It seems Ben agrees. There’s a sudden chill to his tone. “You’re recording this, aren’t you?”

“Since before you even knocked on the door,” Finn concedes after a pause. He taps something at his shoulder and a small insect-like machine buzzes in from one of the windows. It’s a drone of some sort, with chitinous plating and a bulbous camera in place where the head should be. “Not transmitting, though. I’m not stupid. I don’t feel like hailing every hired gun in the sector over our way. Not just yet.”

Ben’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t visibly react further than that, but his grip on her hand tightens, as though he’s about to take off running out of the room, dragging her with him. “An insurance policy,” Ben mutters, scowls at Rose. “Still don’t trust me?”

“Trust you?” Rose laughs humorlessly. “Last time I did that, people died.” She taps the datapad in front of her and brings up the footage of their escape one more time. “Let’s get right to the point. It doesn’t take a genius to see this wasn’t a kidnapping, but clearly you three took off for some reason. You said you had information?”

Ben shakes his head. “I don’t know _what_ I have. It’s all on a datapad on Alderaan. We haven’t been able to decrypt it. All we know is…” His voice wavers, softening. “All we know is, people have died to get this information into the right hands. We almost died, too. Multiple times, now.”

Memories of her veins thrumming with terror, of a first kiss, a first kill, all come to mind. It feels like it’s been years, not mere months. Rey bites her mouth closed, hard enough to hurt.

“Alderaan?” Rose asks, skeptical. “And you… what? Want me to drop by? Why not just tell me over commlink? Or better yet, arrange a dead drop?”

“Would you have even considered it?” Ben fires back. “I can’t take the Falcon to Alderaan, not through the Republic ships patrolling the planet and hyperlane exit points. We need help, and you’re the only one I know of who can slice through the level of security that kriffin’ thing has fast enough. My mother’s best people can’t manage it, and I don’t know what’s on the chip, but Palpatine’s been hunting for it for months. Mon Mothma died for this.”

“Ah.” Understanding dawns in Rose’s eyes. “And now that your mother has it, and now that your mother’s life has been threatened… _now_ you finally care. Now that the horrible things might affect _you,_ you want to do something to stop them.”

Ben doesn’t react defensively to the accusation in her words. His single-word answer is honest and cold.

“Yes.”

On the datapad the muted tinny shriek of blaster fire and death punctuate the silence in the room. Muffled explosions came through the speakers as the Ben on the screen begins blasting officers with the speeder canon. The newscast pauses and zooms in on his face, cold and unrelenting and very much a figure to fear.

“Well,” Rose says softly, her voice dripping with poison. “You’ll make an excellent senator someday.” Rose looks at the figure in the screen, before looking up at them. “Why should I even consider helping you?”

“Because if you don’t,” Ben says, and there’s an ocean of desperation in his tone, “Rose, we don’t know what he has planned, and—”

She can’t handle it, Rey realizes. Can’t just sit here and listen to him nearly beg. 

It seems so simple in her mind. The galaxy is just _needs_ and _wills,_ and everything boils down to who _needs_ more, whose _will_ is stronger _._

Rey slaps her hand flat on the table before her, interrupting Ben and staring down the woman across from her. Pain screams up her arm, but she manages not to flinch. The sound of her hand against the table seems to alert everyone, and distantly she thinks she notices the safety click of Paige’s weapon, but Rey only says, “You're coming with us. Name your price.”

When Rose meets her gaze, considering her for maybe the first time, she doesn’t reply.

“You’re coming with us to Alderaan,” Rey says firmly, “So name your price. I’ll pay it.”

When Rose still stays silent, Rey finally manages, “ _Please.”_

From there, once the word is out, the rest is easier.

“We need your help,” she says in a rush, “My grandfa— the senator, he’s a _monster._ You must see that, you’re much more informed on his actions than I seem to be. If what you already know hasn’t convinced you, then— then—” Her shoulders sag, her eyes watering more from her exhaustion and desperation than from anything else, “ _Please._ You may know what he’s done out there, out in the galaxy, but you don’t know what he’s done to me, to Ben, to Armie. _”_

There’s a long pause, and she holds Rose’s gaze as she murmurs, “Help me ruin him.” 

Rey hears a crack, and though her first thought is that someone’s readying a blaster, she sees Rose’s white-knuckle grip on her datapad. Rose trades a look with Finn, another silent communication. Rose’s voice is quiet, yet brutal. “If you think what he’s done to _you_ is horrendous, you know nothing.” She hesitates, shakes her head, and exhales, “You really want to ruin him? You're prepared to do that?”

Paige makes a noise of protest from behind them. “You can’t be considering this. We’re talking galaxy politics here. This isn’t some Mid-Rim corporate shell exploitation happening. This is the kind of stuff that wars are fought over. Forget the Hutts or Black Sun, we’ll have the _Republic_ after us.”

“I know.” Rose’s expression is tired but resolute. “But I also know we can’t walk away from a chance to take Palpatine down. You know it, too, Pae-Pae.”

“When do we leave?” Finn asks, already packing up one datapad. He doesn’t look surprised; his expression is only full of fondness for the woman next to him. He taps a controller along his shoulder, and the drone on the table beeps, taking to the air and out the window.

“ _We?_ ” Ben scoffs. “We only need Rose. She’ll be safe on Alderaan. Last thing we need is a civilian journalist getting involved and blowing this wide open. You’re staying here.”

Finn looks dispassionately at him. “Not a chance, and you’re not the one calling the shots here.” He gestures to Rose, “You need her and I follow her unless she says otherwise.”

One of the datapads starts beeping before Ben can argue, and Finn, frowning, picks up the device. He presses a button and the screen switches from the newscast to a wide-angle shot of a forest and lake, bobbing up and down. Rey recognizes the outside of Takodana Castle from the walk over. There’s a black dot in the middle of the screen that she _thinks_ is just a dead pixel, but it rapidly expands into something else. Something much worse.

A starship.

Even from her distant view of the datapad, Rey realizes it isn’t decelerating and instead, angling as if for—

Multiple curses fire off in quick succession, and the room erupts into panicked noise before the shriek of a plasma blast reaches a fever pitch.

The outside wall explodes inward, showering them in stone and fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while. 😬 I really appreciate that nobody was rude about that, because this is the longest I've gone without updating a WIP and I'm so sorry! 
> 
> You're always welcome to come ask me for an ETA on the next chapter ([ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)), but I'll try to be better about answering comments, especially from anyone wondering when another chapter will be posted. At the very least, I can say that I've only ever chosen to abandon two fics and I put them in a private collection so nobody would read to the last posted chapter and then realize it was abandoned. If you can see this fic, it's definitely getting an update.
> 
> (I also really love writing this fic, so unless something goes terribly wrong, I'm going to finish it)
> 
> [ Water & Blood's Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/59Smh11XUPyOUPtAeBecJb?si=jbX7UurJRTCW1rhWi1_MUA)


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